


The Jewel of Durin

by Artemisdesari



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Alternative universe Moria is reclaimed, And Mahal likes to stick his nose in as well, Arranged Marriage, Bilba doesn't always make good decisions, Dwalin and Nori are an old married couple, F/M, Fili is a clueless doofus, Fili is mostly confused, Frerin and Thorin aren't related, Gandalf is a meddling git, Hobbit and Belgariad mashup, Immortal Thorin - Freeform, Impulsive Fili, Kili has had a very bad time of it, M/M, No Beta, Rivers of Denial, Run-On Sentences, Some people aren't quite who they appear to be, The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings Fusion, Thorin is a lot older than he looks, What Canon?, a little bit of book canon, a tiny bit of movie canon, alternative universe, and a bit reckless, but mostly canon is dead, but you don't need to know the Belgariad at all, made up dwarf history, made up hobbit history, mentions of torture, more tags to come, nor does Fili, oblivious idiots, seriously, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 77,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemisdesari/pseuds/Artemisdesari
Summary: Fili grew up in Bree with his uncle Thor and his brother, until Kili was taken from them one awful winter. When a wizard comes and drags them both away on a quest to find a mysterious artefact Fili's life changes completely, especially as it seems his uncle may not be who Fili always believed him to be.Bilba Baggins has no intention of going to Moria, she has even less intention of offering herself as a bride to a king who will never appear to claim her. She's going to run away and if she happens to come across a wizard and a handful of dwarves on a daring quest, so much the better. It's just a pity that the wizard in question is the one responsible for the clause that forces her to go to Moria in the first place.





	1. Fili

**Author's Note:**

> Wherein the author picks elements of the storyline of the Belgariad, meshes them with elements of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings (possibly with bits and pieces from the rest of Tolkien's work too) and does away with canon almost entirely because it's inconvenient. Knowledge of the Belgariad isn't needed at all to read this, it's mostly just vague references to the plot at any rate
> 
> I'm testing the waters here, so let me know what you think. Updates will not be as regular as they were with my last story. I'm breaking my own rule by posting a work in progress rather than one I've finished and am in the middle of typing up. I managed to write nearly ten thousand words yesterday, though, so safe to say I know where I'm going with this and what I want the end to be. It will be finished, though, I've been planning on writing this since I finished my first draft of The Blessing and I've got notes galore. Note the tags, they'll be updated as I go

Many of Fili’s earliest memories are of his Uncle Thor’s forge in Bree. The scorching heat of the fire, the whoosh of the bellows and the clang of heated metal being worked, the hiss of a piece being cooled in bucket after bucket of water and the rasp of files and whetstones sharpening blades and leaving the finishing touches. No matter where his life would eventually take him, Fili would always think of that forge with fondness and longing, especially for the early days of his youth when he could hear the bright laughter and soft voice of his brother. Kili, with hair like coal and eyes like obsidian, his earliest playmate and dearest friend. The warm body he would curl up next to on miserable winter days when the rain came down in sheets or the snow had been melted down to little more than murky sludge by the boots of Men and dwarrow and the steel shod hooves of horses and ponies. Kili who had been taken from them by the terrible Fell Winter and left Fili alone in the forge with their Uncle Thor and a broken sense of hopeless loneliness that not even their friends could fill.

In all of this, the one constant that Fili has, even before his brother had been taken, is Uncle Thor. Thor is a big dwarf, broad of shoulder with the large and well-defined muscles of master smith. His dark hair, almost always caught back in a simple leather tie, is rarely found in braids and is streaked through with silver. His blue eyes are like ice most of the time, unless he is caught in a rare moment off guard and usually when looking at Fili, where they hold all the warmth of a perfect summer evening. Thor always seems to know where he is, even when Fili has no desire to be found, and there are times when that grinds against him like a rock slide and others where he is profoundly grateful for his uncle. Usually when he and his friends, and once Kili, have managed to get themselves into some sort of trouble.

There are other dwarrow in Bree, the Mannish settlement seems to be something of a melting pot for three of the races in Middle Earth to come together populated as it is by Men, Dwarves and Hobbits. This naturally means that there are other dwarrow Fili’s age, or near enough for it to make no real difference. There is Gimli, with the blazing hair of a Firebeard and the swift temper of a Longbeard, and though he is twenty years younger than Fili (and fifteen years younger than Kili before he was lost to them) the young lad follows the older willingly and loyally. The other is Ori, who lives with his brothers and is eighteen years older than Fili although his shyness makes him seem all the younger. Ori’s eldest brother, Dori, is a tailor and everything that is proper in a dwarf, his other brother, Nori, seems more like a fabrication as he is so rarely in Bree that Fili has never met him. The only reason Fili knows that Nori exists at all is that he regularly hears Dori cursing about him. Ori has the best stories, though, being more of a scholar than a warrior and Fili often finds himself wishing that Kili were still here to listen to them with a tankard of pilfered ale and his brilliant laughter.

“What happened to my parents, Uncle?” Fili asks one wet day in the forge. Kili has been gone for three years, and though the wound is still deep and still hurts, it has also brought with it the old question that Thor has never answered. He’s in his early sixties and the only memories he has of them is the sound of violins and harps and the scent of fresh baked bread. “They’re dead, too, aren’t they?” He asks after a moment of steady silence while Thor gazes at him with unreadable eyes. His uncle nods, once, his expression grave as he sets aside the piece he had been working on. Fili feels helpless grief bubble through him, though he has always known in some way that they are gone, and coupled with the aching hole in his heart that Kili once filled it brings him to his knees and he weeps bitter tears.

For the first time in years, the first time since Kili disappeared (though he must be dead no body was ever found), Thor takes the young dwarf into his arms and holds him as he sobs his loss into Thor’s broadly muscled chest, thick with the comforting scent of hot metal and burning coal. And when that first anguished flood has run its course, Thor runs his fingers through tangled blond locks and tells him about his mother and father. Speaks of Dis who had a voice as pure as mithril and who was so beautiful that even an elf would have to admit it. Tells him of Vili, who has given Fili all of his looks save his eyes (which were Kili’s) and who was so instantly smitten with Dis that he fell over his own feet and knocked her into a muddy puddle. They talk about them until well into the night and it eases the pain of wondering who he should be.

Life in Bree is simple and easy, for the most part, if hard work. The Shire is nearby and the funny little hobbits, who so distrust strangers and outsiders, will often send a more adventurous Took or Brandybuck into the town with a wagon load of repairs and commissions for the dwarf craftsmen who live there and the merchants who come to the annual fair from Ered Luin, Khazad-dûm and the Iron Hills. It allows for plenty of work and a dwarf who is particularly good at a craft the hobbits have a use or need for can become fairly wealthy off the little folk. Fili knows for a fact that Thor has done well out of them over the years and they have enough money put aside that they could easily journey to one of the Western dwarf settlements and set up a new home and a new life. He would like to experience living under stone as all dwarrow should but every time he brings it up Thor will tell him that now isn’t the time, or that he should focus on perfecting his own grasp of their shared craft or his swordsmanship rather than dreaming of other places. Fili doesn’t argue, Thor is capable of reducing even the most intimidating dwarf or Man to a gibbering wreck purely with a glare and the raising of an eyebrow.

Among the dwarrow who pass through regularly is Dwalin. The old warrior is covered in scars and tattoos, his bald head telling its story of the battles and wars he has fought in very clearly. He and Thor will talk well into the night once Fili is in bed, rumbling away in Khuzdul and when they were children the secrecy would frustrate Fili and Kili. While Thor had refused to teach them the language of their forefathers, however, Ori had quickly stepped in and Fili is grateful for it, though Thor and Dwalin _still_ guard their words when talking so they likely know that Ori has made up for the gaps in Fili’s education.

In all it is a good life, the work is hard, and he sometimes rises almost as exhausted as he was when he went to sleep when they have large orders to complete, but it is good all the same. Fili enjoys it and as the years pass his muscles fill out and harden from hours in the forge and at weapons practice. His beard begins to come in, he starts to earn his braids, and his eye is caught by more than one young hobbit and dwarf. He could be happy here for the rest of his life.

He’s sixty-eight, Kili has been gone for seven years, when Fili’s life begins to change in the most drastic of ways.


	2. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili overhears an interesting conversation

The day begins like any other. Fili wakes to the sound of Thor’s solid thumps on his bedroom door and rolls out of bed with a groan. He rises to the sound of rain on his window and the sinking feeling that this is going to be the kind of morning where Thor pushes him hard. He’s right. Even though it’s barely dawn Thor is already in the courtyard in front of the smithy. His chest is bare, even in the cool air of early spring, as he runs through fluid forms with his sword. His skin is a story, inked and scarred, and Fili often wonders what battles his uncle must have seen to have such a tale carved upon him for not all of the marks can be from a forge. He must have been young, when he earnt them, all of Fili’s memories are of Bree and though his child’s eye paints Thor as ever the same in his memories he must have been young once and seen battle then too. Unlike Dwalin, however, who is always happy to share a tale, Thor remains silent and grows distant when asked.

They spar together, hand to hand, knives and swords, until Fili no longer knows which part of the moisture on his skin is rain and which is sweat. Then they go inside, Fili lights the forge while Thor makes them a simple breakfast, and they eat together as the fire heats. After they pull on simple linen shirts, burn marked in places from sparks, and leather aprons before beginning their work. Thor is skilled enough that they never have any shortage of it and Fili enjoys the way it fills his days.

It all begins to go a little bit sideways when Thor looks up from the pony he is shoeing to stare at a Man across the street. The Man isn’t the tallest Fili has ever seen, although his pointed hat makes him appear all the taller, and he is dressed in grey robes that have clearly seen better days. Thor scowls, his face plainly showing his familiarity with the stranger, and Fili finds himself burning with curiosity as he watches. As though sensing his interest, Thor turns hard eyes upon his nephew and his lips twist even as he finishes the final shoe for the pony.

“You’re done for the day,” Thor tells him abruptly. “Go find Ori or whatever it is you do on your afternoon off.”

“But, Uncle,” he objects, they have a number of farming tools to make for one of the Tooks, who will be by in a week to collect, and two more ponies to shoe. Not to mention the various repairs that Fili is currently working on.

“Now, Fili!” Thor barks. Fili doesn’t try to argue again, he simply clears his station and heads into the small house attached to the workshop.

He washes quickly, Rosie Chubb is working the Prancing Pony today and it is always fun to catch her attention, and changes his clothes. He is retying a braid when he hears Thor’s raised voice through his partially open window, and he moves closer to listen.

“How, in Mahal’s name, did he manage to take it?” Thor roars. “Bad enough he’s betrayed us without you realising he was planning to, but we both know that none but the elder line of Durin can touch the thing.”

“I have my suspicions,” the Man replies, though he seems weary he clearly is not at all intimidated by Thor’s anger, “though I pray I am wrong in my conclusions. I do not like to think what he might have done to encourage co-operation.”

“I know where everyone from that bloodline is, _wizard_ ,” Fili stifles a gasp, “and they are _all_ accounted for.”

“Are they?” The wizard asks and Thor swears.

“He wouldn’t.”

“Given how long it has been, and his age, who is to say whether he would or wouldn’t?” Is the reply.

“He’s _dead_ ,” Thor snarls. “Do you honestly think I would have remained here had I believed for a moment it was otherwise?”

“Regardless,” the wizard in grey continues, “I will need your help in retrieving the thing. We will need to leave now and meet with the others.”

“No,” Thor replies. “I cannot just leave, it will be remarked upon. The boy and I will have to prepare.” Fili pulls a face at being spoken of so dismissively. Thor has never treated him as an inconvenience in the past, but his choice of words makes him feel as though that is exactly what he is.

“Surely the boy can stay?” The Man asks. “He is nearly of age.”

“Oh, yes,” Thor laughs mirthlessly. “But he isn’t yet, and he’s rather too fond of a certain barmaid. I will not leave him where he can be ensnared. Bring the others here, if you must, and we will discuss what is to be done. Warn them to guard their tongues around the lad, I am merely Thor the Blacksmith here, and that is who I will remain. It is who the boy knows.”

“Someone will slip eventually,” the Man warns.

“Not if they value their heads,” Thor mutters darkly and Fili darts behind the curtain when his uncle’s eyes turn towards his window. He takes that as his cue to leave the house and he hurries out using the back door. His steps are quick, excited, as he makes his way to Dori and Ori’s shop.

Dori has a customer when Fili arrives and that means that Ori is at the counter in the little shop, scribbling away in the business books as he puts together account invoices, payment receipts and inventories. Fili has no idea how his friend keeps it all straight and always marvels to see him mutter a name and reach for a scrap of paper without really looking.

“You’ll never believe what I just heard,” he says once he has caught Ori’s attention. The older dwarf stares at him expectantly. “A wizard came to see Thor,” Fili hisses once he has glanced around to check that they are mostly alone. “A tall fellow in grey robes and a pointed hat. He wants Thor to go on a quest to retrieve something.”

“Retrieve what?” Ori asks, eyes gleaming in excitement. “And how does your uncle know a wizard anyway? How can you be so sure he _was_ as wizard?” As always Ori's questions come rapidly, one after the next almost without space for breath and certainly without leaving Fili time to answer. He waits for his friend to fall silent and then answers the first.

“I don’t know,” Fili shrugs, “it has to be important, though, Thor was really upset to hear that it had been taken.”

“It doesn’t take much to upset your uncle,” Ori observes, then gestures for silence as the door to Dori’s fitting room opens and a portly dwarrowdam emerges, followed by Ori’s brother. Dori scowls over at them as soon as the door closes behind his customer.

“What are you two up to?” He asks suspiciously. Fili shrugs and grins brightly. Dori rolls his eyes at the expression all too aware that it is usually one of false innocence. “Go and be up to it somewhere else,” he sighs rather than wait for any other answer. “I’m too old for this.” Dori probably has a good seventy years or so on Ori, so Fili can well believe it.

“We’ll go up to my room,” Ori says quickly, grabbing Fili’s sleeve in much the same way that Kili used to. It sparks the briefest flicker of grief, Fili doesn’t think he’ll ever _stop_ missing Kili, but he brushes it off as he follows his friend.

“A wizard,” Ori prompts as soon as the door is closed.

“Aye,” Fili grins. “Thor knew him, though I didn’t get his name.” Ori’s mouth drops open. “It was strange, though, Thor told the wizard to bring the others they are to meet to the smithy tonight, but that they will have to watch their tongues.”

“Why?” Ori asks.

“Something to do with him just being Thor the Blacksmith,” Fili pulls a face. “I don’t know why that would be so important.” Ori, however, is staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“It’s just,” his friend looks down at his hands, picking at a stray thread from his scribe’s gloves with his ink stained fingers. “It’s just, what if they know him as something else?” Ori asks. “And if he has to remind them that he’s Thor, what do _they_ know him as?”

“He’s my Uncle Thor, Ori, my mother’s brother. Who else would he be?” Fili replies, forehead wrinkling in a confused frown. Then the meaning of Ori’s question sinks in and he feels a flood of horror. If those who are coming know Thor as something else, is his uncle really who he says he is? Is he even really Fili’s uncle?

“Oh, Mahal, Fili,” Ori breathes, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure there’s an explanation for it.”

“That’s not it, not all of it. We’re leaving later, or tomorrow,” Fili breathes as he sits heavily on the bed next to his friend. “What if Thor isn’t really who he says he is? Will I be travelling with a stranger? What if this isn’t the only lie he’s ever told me? What if my parents aren’t dead?”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as all that,” Ori assures him. “Whether he’s your uncle or not it’s clear that he loves you a great deal. I’m sure, no matter his reasons, even if he has lied about his identity it has been done to keep you safe.”

“I guess,” Fili scrapes a hand through his hair and makes a frustrated noise.

“Anyway,” Ori adds, “you’re not going without me. I’ll pack a bag and come with you.”

“Would Dori let you?” Fili asks, though he won’t deny that it will be good to have a friend with him.

“I’m of age, Fili,” Ori replies loftily, “Dori doesn’t have a say I what I do.” He pauses and casts a worried glance at his bedroom door. “I’ll just leave him note,” he adds and Fili laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect this one is going to get long. I've just filled my first notebook and I've barely left Bree. Also, writing Fili without Kili is hard, really hard. I don't like it but it has plot necessity. 
> 
> In other news (as per my last fic) my three year old has spent the weekend insisting we call him Bilbo Baggins. My kids are weird.


	3. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilba has objections to plans for her future and makes a life altering decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally manufactured dwarf history mentioned (because even though canon is so rich I just can't help myself)

Bilba Baggins storms through the Great Smial in Tuckborough, emerald green skirts swirling about her calves and lifting to show the pristine white lace of her petticoats as she strides past faunts and tweens. A crumpled sheet of paper is held tightly in one fist and that is the hand that she uses to announce her arrival at the door of her grandfather’s study before she slams it open without waiting for an invitation. Behind her follows her Aunt Rosa, her hands wringing, and her face pinched with concern.

“What is the meaning of this, Grandfather?” Bilba demands of the elderly hobbit behind an ornately carved desk of dark wood.

Gerontious Took looks at his dark-haired granddaughter from over the top of a delicately made pair of gold rimmed spectacles. The light of mid-afternoon sun glints off them as he moves to sit back in his chair. Age spotted hands, the joints of every finger swollen with arthritis, come together over a stomach that would be considered over large on a Man but that is perfect by hobbit standards. He regards her calmly, with no hint at all of his thoughts beyond the twitching of his lips.

“It’s quite alright, Rosa,” he dismisses her aunt. “Close the door behind you, my dear, and perhaps see if Donnamira has any of her excellent bara brith left to go with the tea.” Rosa bobs and obeys, casting a withering glare at her niece. Bilba raises her chin, Rosa may be just as much a Baggins as she is, but Bilba’s mother was a _Took_ and it will take more than that to intimidate her. “Delightful girl,” Gerontious says with a chuckle. “Pear drop?” He asks abruptly, offering her the ever-present dish.

“Thank you, Grandfather, no,” Bilba replies, not even her anger with her family can completely erase years of lesson on comportment and manners.

“Your loss, dear,” he smiles and pops one of the brightly coloured sweets into his mouth with a delighted hum. “Now,” he says after taking a moment to savour the taste, “I suspect I know why you’ve come rampaging in here, dear child, but why don’t you tell me anyway? It’ll do you good to get it off your chest.” Bilba’s fists clench more tightly for a moment but losing her temper with her grandfather won’t help her case.

“This,” she says tightly as she slams the scrunched-up paper onto the desk. Her grandfather takes it with nothing more than the raise of an eyebrow, smoothing the paper with fingers that are as gentle as they can be.

“Sit, child,” he orders softly, and she flops into a chair obediently. “Ah,” he breathes after a further moment. “Exquisite, not entirely to hobbit fashion, I grant, but allowances must be made. I’m sure Mirabella would be happy to make what adjustments she can, however.”

There is a picture on the paper, quite a good one really for all the creases that now mar it, a rendering of Bilba in a gown of blue and silver. The fabric has been drawn to show ornate embroidery, flowers of love and unity and fidelity, but the dress is cut in the boxy lines that dwarves favour. It is, quite obviously, a wedding dress.

“You can’t expect me to go through with this farce!” She exclaims.

“Your mother, your Aunt Donnamira and Aunt Mirabella all went to Moria, child,” he replies mildly. “My sisters all went there, and my aunts went to Erebor before the dragon came and drove the dwarves back to their old home.”

“But I’m a Baggins,” Bilba insists.

“And you’re also a Took,” Gerontious replies firmly. “You live in the Great Smial and you _will_ go. There aren’t enough daughters in this generation, and we must be seen to hold up our end of things.”

“They’re savages!” Bilba cries desperately. “They ink their skin and run to war at the slightest provocation. They dedicate themselves to shiny mathoms with no deeper tender feelings at all!”

“You’ve been listening to far too many of your Baggins relations and reading too many Elvish books,” Gerontious frowns disapprovingly. “And if you think for a second, young miss, that I think you truly _believe_ all of that rubbish you must take me for a fool.”

Bilba’s argument deflates rapidly, replaced with the uncomfortable, vague, feeling of guilt. She does not, in fact, subscribe to the idea that dwarves are vicious savages who care only for gold and jewels. How can she when her mother would tell her such marvellous stories of her time in Moria and the great halls of Dwarrowdelf. Her tales of the wonderous music, the echoes of their songs and the lightness of their harps, of the indescribable works of art to be found in mosaics of gems and precious metals on the walls, frescos and friezes of their history and legends. Her joy at the gentle care with which they treated her were some of Bilba's favourite stories to hear as a child and teen.

“Their manners are not hobbit manners, to be sure,” Belladonna would say, “but they are all that is good and kind to those who deserve it.”

Bilba’s preferred hair slides were, in fact, once her mother’s and a souvenir from her long months in Moria. Belladonna would sit and gaze upon them sometimes, looking back on that year with a fondness that Bilba could never understand and, she sometimes thought, a measure of regret as well. Donnamira and Mirabella, too, have told her similar tales and Bilba will readily admit that she is simply clutching at straws in an effort to try and avoid the journey and the resulting months away from home and Torluc Proudfoot.

“Tea, Father,” Aunt Donnamira bustles in with a tray. “I toasted the bara brith,” she continues, “this was the last of it, I’ll make a fresh batch tomorrow, of course, but this was a little stale. Oh, well, would you look at that,” she picks up the dress design. “Our Mirabella certainly has an eye for it, doesn’t she?” Gerontious chuckles, everyone in the Great Smial is accustomed to the way Donnamira’s mind seems to flutter from one thought to the next without a break. “Why, I do believe this might be the most hobbit like dress we’ve had so far. Have you shown her the previous ones? Mine was really very dwarf-like, but it got me more than one proposal, even if the heir to Durin’s throne didn’t appear.”

“Bilba doesn’t want to go,” Gerontious comments.

“Just like her mother,” Donnamira sighs. “So like Belladonna, I remember the fit _she_ pitched when her turn came to go to Moria, the corridors rang with her screams for _days_. And you look so like her, dear, you’ll enjoy it when you get there. Just like she did. A little adventure is just the thing to set a girl up before she goes looking for a husband, you know.”

“But it’s so pointless!” Bilba snaps. “The elder line of Durin died out centuries ago, he’s never going to appear to take a hobbit wife! They should just crown someone from the younger line and let it go.”

“Your mother made the same argument,” her grandfather nods sagely. “But their laws say that only a child of the elder line, or Durin himself, can take the throne and wield Durin’s jewel, whatever _that_ is, and so I will tell you the same thing I told her: you are going, end of discussion.”

“Grandfather!”

“Enough, Bilba!” Gerontious shouts. “Lord Frerin has already assured me that an escort has been prepared for you and will arrive in time for mid-summer. You will depart with them the day after and they will return you as soon as it is safe to travel once the ceremony is completed. This is an opportunity, child, to see what lies beyond our borders. Torluc Proudfoot is unlikely to ever take you any further from home than Bywater. You’re a Took, this is in your blood. Accept it.”

Bilba stiffens and bites her tongue to prevent herself from retorting in a way that is sure to arouse her grandfather’s suspicions. Then she gets to her feet and marches out, tea and food abandoned.

“Just like her mother,” she hears Aunt Donnamira say fondly as she slams the door.

Bilba’s room is deep inside the Great Smial, which can easily house upwards of sixty hobbits at any given time. Young cousins, aunts and uncles, even a couple of great uncles, move through the halls at one of two speeds. The heedless meander of someone with no true destination in mind, it being between meal times, or the frantic activity of the young. It’s spring and it has been raining so nearly everyone is inside. For the most part everything and everyone smells damp. Bilba has long suspected that there is a leak somewhere, but the structure is so extensive that it could be years until the damage is actually found. It works to her benefit, however, because Bilba’s room, and many of the store rooms, are near to where the damp smell is strongest. This isn’t out of any malicious intent from her family. In fact, when Bilba was brought to live here after the Fell Winter the rooms were fine, and this was the first one available. She had welcomed the solitude, and still does. Now the smell keeps many of the others away and so her quiet preparations have gone unnoticed.

She closes the door to her room carefully behind her and considers her options. She could go to Moria, it would certainly be the most sensible route to take and it will only be a year of her life. If Torluc Proudfoot can’t wait a year for her he isn’t worth having anyway. It’s the principal of the thing, however, and the humiliation of it. The dwarves and hobbits have always been allies, to offer herself as a hostage bride to symbolise that alliance seems somehow barbaric. To offer herself and be rejected due to the simple fact that the one she is being given to doesn’t exist is, on some level, worse. She has nightmares about it, honestly, about the dwarves watching the hobbit arrive in her ridiculous dress and offering her body, heart and soul (insincerely) to thin air. She hears them snigger at her foolishness in the back of her mind and even her own imaginings cause a blush to stain her cheeks. Bilba may be a Took, but she is also a _Baggins_ , and Bagginses do _not_ allow themselves to be humiliated.

Eyes the colour of cornflowers turn to her bed, to the shirts and trousers and coats she has gathered. They’re all worn, and likely several years (if not decades) out of fashion, but where she’s going fashion won’t much matter. Perhaps, if she can make it to Rivendell, Lord Elrond might be convinced to give her shelter until after the harvest, and thus make it too late by the time she has returned to the Shire for her to reach Moria before her birthday, they won't be able to depart once the bad weather sets in. If he does she might avoid the spectacle in Moria altogether. To that end she sheds her clothes, the emerald green bodice and skirts, the pristine white petticoats and blouse, her shift and stays, and exchanges it all for tight bindings around her breasts, coarse linen shirts and odd feeling canvas trousers. A glance in the mirror confirms that she looks ridiculous in her masculine clothes with her mass of curls that fall to her lower back. No amount of twisting and pinning can make them lie flat enough to match her rough disguise and she regretfully reaches for the shears on her dresser. She gathers her hair in a loose tail, reaches behind her and hacks once, twice, three times, until she is left holding a mass of severed curls in her hand and the remainder falls in uneven waves about her head and shoulders. That is far easier to pin into something that looks more like the messy curls of a male hobbit. It is far from the best disguise, but it should get her from Tuckborough to Bree without being instantly recognised.

The hair and sheers are place in the drawer of her dresser and her eyes fall on her mother’s silver hair clasps. She cannot leave them here, she thinks, more than one of her cousins has taken a shine to them and with Bilba having run away they may decide to simply help themselves. The little bits of shine, mathoms as they are, will not take up much space and so Bilba wraps them in a pocket handkerchief before tucking them deep into her pack. This she has packed meticulously, having made list after list, checked and double checked against that which she had been told to pack for the trip to Moria. Two changes of clothes, a tin bowl and cup, water skins, handkerchiefs, soap and a bedroll. Whatever preserved foods suitable for travelling that she has been able to pilfer, though she will have to get cured meat in Bree, and she knows she won’t be able to carry enough food to keep to a proper eating schedule. Her pack is almost as big as _she_ is, anyway. She checks her list one last time, adds flint and a small sewing kit to the bag, then takes a deep breath. Grandfather will be unhappy with this development, and she hates that she will make him so, but unlike her mother Bilba has no intention of allowing the nature of her adventure to be dictated to her.

She takes one last bracing breath before she sneaks out of the back door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerontious has a slightly Dumbledore feel to him, that wasn't deliberate it was just the way he appeared on paper.
> 
> Bara Brith is Welsh (and delicious) and is basically bread with tea soaked fruit mixed through.


	4. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili attends an interesting meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More totally manufactured dwarf history ahead.

The trouble, Fili thinks as he walks back to the smithy, with knowing that Thor is going to have a secret meeting at the house is that he isn’t supposed to _know_ about it. Fili has never been good at deceiving his uncle, he can lie when he needs to, but Thor raised him and his brother to be honest and has always been able to tell when they were anything but. He takes a breath at the door, carefully pastes a neutral expression on his face, and goes inside just as the sun is beginning to sink below the horizon. Ori will join him later, they have it all planned, but if he leaves too early Dori will find out about it and they have no desire to have Ori’s over-protective older brother turn up.

“Uncle?” He calls as he enters the house.

Thor is nowhere to be seen and Fili makes his way down the short corridor that connects the back door with the entrance to the smithy and looks inside. The forge is already cold, and that is unusual in itself. Thor will normally work until long after the sun has set. Even were Fili unaware of Thor’s discussion with the wizard _that_ would alert him to that fact that something is going on. Under normal circumstances the fact that Thor is nowhere to be seen would not necessarily be cause for concern but knowing that the wizard wanted Thor to leave immediately makes nerves coil in Fili’s gut. He knows that Thor would never leave without telling him, in truth his uncle has left Bree twice in Fili’s memory, both before Kili was lost and both times Dwalin had come to watch over the two boys.

He makes his way back inside and ambles into the kitchen. A large pot of stew sits on the stove, bubbling occasionally as it simmers, several loaves of fresh bread, and a few rolls, and an entire wheel of cheese are already on the table and a keg of ale stands by the stairs ready to be broached. Wherever Thor has gone, he obviously is not intending to be gone long. Fili absently picks up a roll, taking a bite as he goes to the stove to stir the stew and the smell of meat and herbs assaults his nose in a fresh wave. He hums in enjoyment, dipping his pilfered bread into the thick gravy so that he can take a taste.

“That is for later, lad,” Thor rumbles behind him, though his tone is amused, and this is not the first time that he has caught Fili sampling dinner when he should not be. Fili turns and is relieved to see a smile on his normally stern uncle’s face.

“What’s the occasion?” He asks around his mouthful of food. The lightness disappears from Thor’s expression.

“Sit down, Fili,” he says gently, so gently, in fact, that Fili fears he may have changed his mind about allowing his nephew to go with him. “We have to leave Bree,” Thor tells him. “I cannot go into the details of why, it is not safe for you to know them, only that it is important.”

Over hearing that Thor was leaving and intended on taking Fili with him had been exciting. Fili has longed to have the chance to leave Bree and see more of the world and this would finally be the opportunity he has waited for. Perhaps, he had thought, they might even make it as far as one of the western dwarf settlements and spend time under stone. Now that Thor has confirmed they will be leaving, however, Fili feels suddenly afraid. The world outside Bree is unknown and dangerous, it has already taken Kili and his parents from him. Orcs and Men of dubious morality populate the wilds between towns and settlements. Thor has been training Fili to fight from a young age, as he did Kili, but the young dwarf has only had occasion _once_ to put those skills to the test. He had not been good enough, then, and it had cost him his brother. What if something happens and he isn’t good enough _this_ time either? It could cost him his uncle or his friend this time.

“You will hear things tonight, lad,” Thor continues, seemingly oblivious to Fili’s inner turmoil, “things you will not understand. Nor are you meant to,” he lays a hand on Fili’s shoulder reassuringly. “It isn’t time yet,” he adds. “One day, though, when you are _ready_ , all will be clear. I want you to pack a bag, just the essentials and a lot of those I have left on your bed, and as many of your knives as you want to bring. Hopefully we won’t run into any trouble, but the world is not a safe place.” Fili nods numbly. “Go on, lad. The others will be here soon.”

Fili all but stumbles up the stairs, his mind whirling as he thinks on Thor’s words and the sudden reality of knowing that this is it. This will be the final night he will spend, for Mahal knows how long, in the only home that he has ever known. He is still in a daze when he opens his bedroom door and sees what Thor has placed on the bed for him. A traveller’s pack of dark leather and sturdy canvas sits there with a bedroll in serviceable grey already snuggly buckled to the bottom of it. It lies next to a pile of tunics and trousers and while the clothes are faded with age, and they clearly are not Thor’s, they have been well cared for and will be better suited for travel than the burn spotted leather trousers and linen shirts he wears to work in. By far the most eye-catching thing, however, is the coat. Made of rich brown leather, it has a geometric design embossed around the edges, lined for warmth with soft golden fur that shows at the cuffs and forms a wide collar. This, he realises when he picks it up, is new. He recognises the design as the same one as that on the vambraces his uncle had gifted him with on his last name-day. Thor may not have planned this trip, but he has obviously been thinking ahead. Fili’s name-day is in a fortnight and this coat had evidently been intended as a gift.

The sound of the door drags him from his thoughts and he quickly stuffs everything he will need into his new pack, adding a couple of extra knives just in case, before he makes his way down to the kitchen eagerly. Even though he had taken the roll earlier his stomach is now busily reminding him that lunch was some time ago and he is hungry. He has no idea how many others will be coming and no desire to miss out on food because he has been wool gathering upstairs.

“There he is,” he hears Dwalin say as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “You’ve filled out, lad.”

Fili grins at his uncle’s friend. He has not seen Dwalin in twelve years but aside from a little more steel in his beard the old warrior has hardly changed. Dwalin slings his arm around Fili’s shoulders, dragging him to the table where Thor sits next to a dwarf with hair and beard the colour of new fallen snow and eyes that glitter with intelligence. There is another there, too, and this one has auburn hair styled into three high peaks and sharp green eyes that seem to see everything as they run over Fili. He grunts something into his ale and Dwalin shakes his head in response.

“My brother, Balin,” he says, gesturing to the white-haired dwarf, “and _Nori_.” There is a note to Dwalin’s voice that Fili can’t quite place, one that seems to lie somewhere between affection and exasperation.

“Still playing that old game, husband?” Nori drawls. It surprises Fili to hear that Dwalin is married, even as the dwarf in question drops into a seat next to his spouse. Nori is thin and lithe appearing for a dwarf. He looks fragile enough, in fact, that Dwalin could probably snap him in two without breaking a sweat.

“Nori?” Fili asks, focusing on another detail instead. “Ori’s brother?”

“So, you know my nadadith,” Nori replies. “That would make you Fili, then. He talks about you a good deal when I have occasion to go home.”

Fili spends some time talking with Nori about his brothers while they eat and await the arrival of the wizard. Dwalin contributes on occasion but his attention is caught more by his brother and Thor, who talk in hushed voices. Finally, almost an hour after they have begun eating, the wizard finally arrives with a sheepish looking Ori at his side. Fili stares at his friend, they had spent hours planning when Ori should arrive, and this had not been it. Fili will admit, however, that he had not expected the wizard to arrive quite this long after everyone else.

“ _You_ are late,” Thor comments. The wizard sniffs.

“A wizard is never late, nor is he early,” is the lofty reply and Thor arches an eyebrow. “He arrives precisely when he means to, and in enough time, it would seem, to apprehend eavesdroppers.”

“Young Ori,” Thor says, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to see Fili,” Ori mumbles, fingers picking at the hem of his cardigan. All of his confidence from earlier in the afternoon seems to have abandoned him, Fili thinks with a sinking feeling.

“Did you indeed?” Thor rumbles in displeasure. “And packed for a journey as well.” He turns hard eyes on Fili. “What did you tell him?” Thor demands, obviously having concluded that Fili must have overheard some of his earlier conversation with the man in grey. Fili flushes.

“What could I tell him?” He asks sullenly. “I don’t know anything.”

“Go home, Ori,” Thor orders.

“I don’t think that would be the best idea, Thor,” Balin interjects. He says Thor’s name strangely, as though it is an incomplete part of a whole. “You and Gandalf may disagree, of course, but since we have no idea what the boy knows or has been told it might be safer to bring him than leave him behind.”

“We cannot be too cautious in this endeavour, Thor,” the wizard, Gandalf, adds. “It would be better if we did not leave anyone behind who might have any idea about our undertaking.”

“He is young,” Thor replies dubiously, “and untested.”

“So is the lad,” Dwalin points out. “Nori? He’s _your_ kin.” The auburn-haired dwarf turns hard eyes on his brother and Ori shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Finally, Nori sighs and goes to him, tapping their foreheads together with a surprising amount of delicacy.

“You were never good at being sneaky, nadadith,” he sighs. “Dori is going to lose his mind, you know. But,” and here he smiles, and Fili is surprised at how dangerous it appears, “you’re of age, and I’m hardly one to tell anyone what they can or can’t do.”

“Damned thief,” Dwalin mutters, but there is a fondness to the way that he says it. Fili has no idea how these two met, Dwalin has never even mentioned Nori, but his uncle doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest at the interactions between the two. Ori, however, bristles slightly at Dwalin’s words.

“Very well,” Thor snarls, “let us sit and have done with it.” His unhappiness with this development is very clear and the glare that he shoots at Fili quite obviously says that they will be having words at some point in the future. It has been a long time since Fili has managed to incur that kind of wrath from his uncle and he finds that he has not missed it.

They move away quickly, Dwalin and Balin sitting at the table with Thor, Fili and Gandalf. Ori hovers nervously next to his brother, who is leaning on the back of his husband’s chair. A knife flickers through his fingers near Dwalin’s ragged ear and it speaks to how often he must do so in the way that the old warrior ignores it entirely. Gandalf unfolds a map and spreads it on the table. It is a well-used thing, showing signs of wear in the creases and even a hole or two where two of the folds intersect. Fili stares at it in fascination. He has seen maps before, of course, but those are generally of the immediate area, though occasionally they may go as far as Ered Luin or Rivendell. This map shows both sides of the Misty Mountains, going as far east as the Iron Hills.

Thor glares at it as though willing it to burst into flames, though his eyes are fixed on one point. “Explain, wizard,” he says abruptly.

“I know no more than I have already told you, Thor,” Gandalf replies mildly. “For further answers we would have to ask Lord Frerin, though I doubt we have time for a detour. All I know is that two weeks ago the former head of my order snuck into the halls and stole the thing which we seek.”

“Speak plainly,” Dwalin grumbles.

“I dare not,” Gandalf shakes his head. “There are ears that should not hear our plans, and he has a way of hearing his name uttered in the wind. No doubt he will apply the same ability to the artefact he has stolen.”

“ _How_ did he steal it, is what I would like to know,” Nori says. “Thieves have been trying to get their hands on it for generations and none have managed it.”

“You would know,” the big warrior chuckles.

“Be nice,” Nori chides him.

“ _That_ is something we would _all_ like to know,” Gandalf draws their attention back to the matter at hand. “How ever he managed to accomplish it is not the matter of concern at this precise moment. Our concern must be in retrieving the artefact before we attempt to prevent a repeat of these circumstances.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have taken it?” Balin asks. “I don’t know about the others, but I have little desire to journey to the east. The Haradrim will not welcome us, nor will our Stiffbeard cousins.”

“What of the Blacklocks and Stonefoots?” Gandalf asks and Fili stares, not quite believing that the wizard does not know the answer to that question.

“The Stonefoots have turned to dragon-worship,” Nori answers, his eyes distant. “They are almost entirely consumed by their love of gold. As for the Blacklocks, their allegiance lies in the same place it has for centuries. They are allied, still, with Sauron, though all that remains of him is a powerless shade.”

“Should have wiped out the lot of them after what they did,” Dwalin growls.

“Mahal wouldn’t allow it,” Thor says softly, his eyes distant and pained. “Durin’s folk came close, but Mahal stopped us.”

Every dwarf knows the story and it was a favourite of Fili’s as a young dwarf, although Kili preferred the tale of the slaying of Durin’s bane. Thor has always told both with more feeling than any other Fili has come across. The story goes that in the hour of the greatest grief of Durin’s folk, as he lay trapped within Khazad-dûm after slaying the Balrog and ordering his son to take his sword and flee, the Blacklocks has descended and slaughtered Durin’s children, thus ending the elder line. Only a cousin of the secondary line had escaped, and he had been unable to wield the king’s sword. The refugees, driven out by the wrath of the Balrog and the orcs it had summoned to its cause, had made their way to the colony in Erebor, raised an army and marched east, all but destroying the Blacklocks and their Stonefoot allies and irreparably damaging their ties with the Stiffbeards.

“He shouldn’t have,” Dwalin hisses. “It would have saved us so much if He had just let us wipe them out! They slaughtered _children_.”

“And they were still _His_ children, no matter their crimes against the rest of us not all of them were responsible,” Thor replies. “It is not for us to question Mahal’s decisions, then or now.”

“Enough!” Gandalf shouts and his voice seems to come from everywhere at once. He no longer appears to be a weary old man in his threadbare robes, instead he seems ten feet tall and garbed in gleaming white that blinds the eye and smothers the fires of rage. “We are not here to discuss the old hurts of the ancient past. We are here to determine the best course to take so that we might retrieve the artefact.” The wizard reduces as he speaks, becoming again the old man and the crushing weight of his presence dims with him.

“He would not journey that far east,” he continues once everyone has calmed. “It would take him too close to Mordor, although I would _not_ rule out the fortress at Barad-dûr as his destination. We know not where Sauron’s spirit lies, though we know that he once desired the artefact. Our thief could be more closely allied with the Dark Lord than I had feared, or he could simply have taken the thing for himself having always been enamoured of it and returned to his fortress near Fangorn. His route, however, will be roundabout by necessity, for the Lady of Lothlorien would have been aware of his theft as soon as he neared her borders. Our best course would be to go to the bottom of the pass that leads to the hidden western gate and try to discern his direction from there. Such a thing as the artefact he has stolen will leave a trail that I can follow.”

“It will take us past Rivendell,” Balin notes, “perhaps Lord Elrond-”

“No,” Thor cuts him off. “Elrond will convene a council and we will lose precious time while others debate what we know must be done. If the white w- if the white _thief_ returns to his tower, or indeed to Barad-dûr, we will never get the thing back off him.” Fili glances up at Ori, who doesn’t look quite as confused as he feels. Ori, however, has a greater grasp of the histories of dwarrow and Man alike than Fili does. He has probably been able to glean more from this vague discussion than Fili has.

“It shall be as you say,” Balin bows his head. The sign of respect, and the fact that all of the older dwarrow defer to his uncle surprises Fili and makes him wonder, again, if there is more to Thor than he has always known.

“We leave at first light,” Thor declares, putting an end to Fili’s musing. The hour has grown late as they have spoken and debated, Fili’s eyes are sandy and tired, but his stomach flutters with nerves enough to keep him awake. Thor’s eyes, when they turn to him, are hard and full of warning. His uncle is not happy. “Get some sleep,” Thor orders, and though Fili would usually chafe at being instructed as though a child, now he leaps to his feet so that he might avoid his uncle’s inevitable ire.

“Come on, Ori,” he says quickly, “you can bunk with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to use Gandalf's line somewhere.
> 
> So much made up lore to weave through, it will get clearer as I go on, I promise, but for the moment things have to be deliberately vague. I'm always happy to answer questions, though, if you have any.
> 
> No chapter tomorrow as I have a load of family stuff happening, with luck the next one will be up Friday.


	5. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the adventure isn't quite what Fili dreamed it would be.

Fili wakes to the all too familiar sound of Thor pounding on his bedroom door. He groans, his head fuzzy with lack of sleep and begins to roll over in a useless attempt to get just a few more minutes before he gets up to face his uncle’s brutal training in the courtyard. The warm body to the other side of him in the narrow bed brings him up short. For a dreadful, heart breaking moment he thinks that Kili is there, that his much missed younger brother survived the Fell Winter after all and is in the bed they have shared nearly all of their lives. Then he meets Ori’s wide hazel eyes and he remembers that Kili is long gone and Fili has a quest to join.

They dress themselves quickly, though they slept in most of what they would be wearing to depart in any case, and stumble in an exhausted haze down the stairs. Fili’s fingers feel thick and clumsy as he belts the harness for his swords over his new coat, his vambraces holding the sleeves tight against his arms and his throwing axes an unfamiliar weight at his ankles. He is well practised and well versed in all of his weapons, but the strangeness of wearing them all when he might normally only carry one of them is disorientating. He feels like a dwarfling playing dress-up, a child pretending he is Durin VI off to face the Balrog, or even playing a warrior among his friends off to face an army of orcs during the last great alliance.

He yawns and rubs at his eyes, blearily stumbling through the kitchen towards the coffee pot.

“Ah, the curse of the young,” Nori chuckles, eyes bright and hair perfect. He looks as though he has had a full night of sleep from dusk to dawn and Fili feels awkward and clumsy in the face of it. Ori must feel worse, being more prone to staying awake late into the night and rising half way through the morning. Nori looks him over with an assessing gaze and Fili shuffles under it uncomfortably. “You any good with those blades?” The auburn-haired dwarf challenges.

“He’s good enough,” Thor says from behind him and Fili jumps. “We do need to work on his awareness of his surroundings, however. The wizard?”

“Making himself useful,” Nori replies, moving so that Fili can get to the coffee pot, though he is dismayed to see that breakfast will be little more than bread and jam. “He’s gone with Dwalin to fetch and load the ponies.”

“Unusually helpful of him,” Thor observes but makes no further comment and it is not long until Dwalin stamps through the door. As always, the old warrior is heavily armed, and his expression is unreadable.

“Gates are open and the wizard is eager to be off,” he says.

He doesn’t need to say anything else and Thor nods, marching past with his sword at his hip and his great fur trimmed coat billowing behind him. His hair is loose for the most part, with extra braids that Fili has never seen him wear woven near the front. His tunic is of a rich blue and it makes him look almost regal, Fili thinks, his blue eyes gleaming in the light of early morning as he glances back at his following nephew and the smithy that they will be leaving behind.

“Will we ever come back?” Fili asks softly.

“No, lad,” he replies, resting a hand on Fili’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “This has been a good home to us, but by the time this is done we will be too changed to continue as blacksmiths in Bree.” Then he smiles down at him and it is a gentle, fond smile that makes Fili’s worried heart ease a little. “The coat looks well on you, Fili, I am only sorry the gifting of it could not wait until your name-day.” Then Thor is gone and already in his saddle before Fili’s wits have caught up to him enough for him to follow suit.

Fili learnt to ride when he was young, but it has been many years since he sat on a pony and it takes longer than he would like to remember how to hold the reins and settle himself in place. His pony, for the most part, seems fairly placid and content enough to follow the others. His gear, he’s pleased to note, has already been fastened to the saddle behind him. He can see Dwalin and Balin leading the two ponies that are laden down with tents, food and cooking supplies. It makes him wonder how much the other brought with them and how much his uncle had organised the day before.

Their departure is, for the most part, ignored. There are no crowds of cheering people lining the streets to wish them luck, no horns or flutes playing bright tunes. Not even brilliant sunshine that falls upon them like a blessing from Mahal Himself upon their endeavour. Nothing at all to mark the fact that Fili’s life has just been uprooted and altered entirely. The morning is unremarkable, mist hangs heavily over the hills and fields outside the town, the sky is overcast above them and even the birds are still aside from the odd whistle. The ponies’ hooves thump rhythmically on the dirt road, still damp from the rain the day before, stirring up the thick scent of fresh dirt. In short, it is nothing like Fili thought the beginning of an adventure or daring quest would be and he finds it incredibly disappointing, even though he is well aware that Thor and Gandalf, at least, feel the need for there to be some secrecy about the whole thing. He simply wishes that the uprooting of his life could be marked by more than just a blanket of mist and the smell of mud and crushed grass.

Their pace is slow, not what Fili would call leisurely but too slow to match the urgency which the meeting the night before implied was essential to this journey. He cannot understand it when all the stores have the hero cantering upon his horse day and night so that he can achieve his goal. He asks Thor about it when they pause for something to eat and to relieve themselves. The look his uncle gives him is flatly unforgiving, as though he cannot believe that Fili would ask something so very foolish, but a moment later it smooths in understanding.

“Our destination is a long way off,” he says, “almost four weeks travel at the very least. That is a long journey, for dwarf, Man or pony, and if we push them too hard _now,_ they will have nothing left for when we have found the trail and need to hurry to catch our quarry.”

“But what if he gets where he’s going before we find the trail?” Fili asks.

“That is a chasm we will bridge if we need to cross it,” Thor smiles. “Come, we will not catch our thief by sitting here talking.”

By mid afternoon the side of the road is beginning to be lined with trees, open land and hedged in fields giving way to thick woods that seem almost faded in the overcast light. For almost an hour they ride through an area that is covered in a carpet of bluebells and the scent of them is thick enough in Fili’s nose to make him sneeze repeatedly and this draws amused smirks from Nori, who rides ahead with greater ease and grace atop his pony than Fili believes any dwarf has a right to, especially as he shifts uncomfortably in the unfamiliar saddle. The vague ache after a morning spent riding has turned into the kind of angry burn in his legs and backside that makes him fidget frequently and that just seems to make it worse.

“You’ll harden up, lads,” Dwalin tells them later as Fili and Ori nearly waddle their way to the fire. The old warrior looks at the stew he has placed there to cook and slaps his husband’s hands away when Nori reaches for the spoon. “Don’t go sitting yet, get walking and find some more firewood,” he instructs. “You’ll be more knotted up than badly stored wire in the morning else. Get your grubby paws _away_ , thief,” he adds, rapping Nori’s knuckles with the spoon this time. The sharp eyed dwarf licks a smear of gravy from his fingers with a grin.

“Needs seasoning,” he says.

“You don’t get to have anything to do with the cooking,” Dwalin growls. “Last time I let you cook I couldn’t get out of bed for a week.”

Fili and Ori depart to the sound of the couple bickering good naturedly Ori groaning as they walk, and Fili understands the sentiment. He feels eight decades older, exhausted after a night of little sleep and a day of unfamiliar activity. Working the forge would have been less tiring, he thinks, though the work is hot and exhausting in its own right. Fili’s muscles are built for the rise and fall of the hammer, the twist of pliers and clamps and the whirling dance of the swordsman. They are not built for this, the constant shifting roll of his hips and thighs with the gait of his pony and the press of keeping his seat when they take a moment to go faster than a trot.

The young dwarrow collect firewood in silence, poking into the hollows in trees to find broken branches that are drier after the previous day’s rain. Fili pauses to tie his hair back, irritated with the way it falls into his eyes every time he bends to grab a stick or log and more accustomed to having it tied back due to long days in the forge with his uncle. Every now and then Ori will look towards the road, his face pinched and eyes distant. Fili doesn’t need to ask what is bothering his friend, Dori will have been aware that Ori had left Bree by mid-morning at the latest (he’s more at ease about Ori’s days than Thor is Fili’s). Dori will be furious, of course, but none can say whether he will try to follow or not. Fili knows that he didn’t when Nori left, although Nori was scarcely more than sixty, Ori had been in his twenties and their mother long dead. Dori no longer has anyone to keep him at home and that makes the older dwarf an unknown element.

It doesn’t take them long to gather their bundles of wood, though it is almost fully dark all the same by the time they are done. With the approach of night has come the chill air of late spring and it will be some time until the dark times carry the lingering warmth of summer. Thor nods approvingly at them when they return past him, a bowl of stew in his hand and icy eyes turned upon the road nearby. Blain and Gandalf are deep in quiet conversation and Nori and Dwalin sit next to one another, eating in comfortable silence that neither breaks aside from a grunt towards the stew pot and empty bowls as the youngest members of their party approach.

Fili collapses into his bedroll as soon as he is finished eating and falls asleep instantly. He wakes to the sound of petrified screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing over the weekend, life is picking up the pace at the moment with putting the house on the market and looking at every property that even comes close to what we need so I haven't had time to keep up with typing up what I already have. It's also plain hot and the room that the computers live in is the hottest in the house even when they aren't running. It makes typing uncomfortable at best.


	6. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba makes a bad decision

“And where might you be going, little one?” The Man asks Bilba as she walks miserably along the great east road out of Bree. She turns to look up at him, taking in his worn clothes and unwashed hair and skin. He’s tall, as all big folk appear to her, and slender under his layers of tunic and cloak. Something about him makes her uneasy, although his voice had seemed kind enough when he spoke.

“I’m going to Rivendell,” she replies, continuing her pace and shifting her too heavy pack on her shoulders. She half wishes she had purchased a pony in Bree the day before, but she had been uncertain her funds would stretch that far, and she knows nothing of ponies in any case. The Man hums.

“Alone?” He asks. “That is a long way to go for a single hobbit.” Bilba has nothing to say to that beyond a shrug. The man obviously knows something of hobbits. “I am meeting some friends on the road,” he continues, “perhaps we could walk together until then? The miles go more easily with company.”

Bilba does not _want_ company. She has spent so many years in the constant presence of her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that being alone has been a welcome change over the last several days. On the road she can hear her own thoughts and sing without being joined by a veritable cacophony of voices of varying levels of talent. Alone she can dedicate herself to remembering the sound of her mother’s laughter and the nonsense limericks her father would spend hours writing just to make his wife and daughter laugh. Even though her pack weighs heavily on her and makes her shoulders, neck and back ache, even though her feet burn with the mile upon mile she has travelled since fleeing the Great Smial, Bilba feels more free than she has since her parents passed.

While she does not wish for the company, however, she also has very little desire to appear rude and she is well aware that there will be no avoiding the man if he is going in the same direction as she. She accepts the offer as graciously as she can and listens to the Man as he tells her a little of the road they are travelling. They are passed, sometime around elevenses, by a party of dwarves on ponies, their faces grim as they ride. Bilba’s companion shifts when he sees them, turning as though he does not wish to be seen, and that uneasy feeling settles in her again. They continue in silence until Bilba announces that she is going to stop for some lunch, a meal of bread bought before she left Bree the previous day and cheese while it can be had. She offers to share out of politeness, the Man not seeming to be carrying as much as she is. He accepts the food gladly, to her annoyance, but suggests, strongly, that they continue onwards.

“It will take you until winter at This pace if you stop for every meal,” he tells her.

Bilba is not sure whether she should believe that or not, she has seen the maps, measured the distance and calculated the miles from the scale of them, but she is unaccustomed to anything other than a leisurely stroll. This man is obviously well travelled, has seen far more of the world than a sheltered Shire lass, and so she shoulders her belongings and eats as she walks. The man’s pace has increased, to the extent that she has to trot to keep up with him, and she would let him go ahead of her but for the fact that their conversation that morning has exposed some rather large gaps in her plans that she may need some help with.

She still begins to fall behind fairly quickly, not accustomed to the pace and lacking the stamina to maintain it. The Man’s face twists unpleasantly when he notices that she is not keeping the pace he has set and Bilba begins to rethink the wisdom of travelling with him, recalling the cautions about Big Folk she has heard for most of her life. Her hesitancy, however, is noticed and the Man grabs her arm to pull her along. She cries out in protest, wriggling in an attempt to break free but he is stronger than she and his fingers close about her wrist painfully. Tears prickle the corners of her eyes as he sneers down at her, all trace of kindness is gone now, and she bitterly recognises her mistake in being polite rather than trusting her instincts, though she doubts it would have done her much good. She has no weapon, nor means to defend herself, and with no thought other than cursing her own foolishness she follows as he tows her along until darkness has long fallen and she is stumbling with every step.

“You have slowed me down, halfling,” the Man growls. She wonders how she never managed to get his name, though she had not offered hers either. “We should have been further along by now. Still, we’ll fetch a pretty price for you in the markets. It isn’t often we get a halfling to sell.”

Fear settles over her like an icy blanket. Bilba has heard of slavers, everyone in the Shire has. More than one hobbit has left to go to Bree or the Blue Mountains and never returned. More often than not their disappearance is linked to the rough men in the wilds who are known to raid villages and caravans to take slaves for orcs or ships bound for the east. The rangers do what they can, but there is only so much they can do when so much of the land between the Shire and the Misty Mountains is wilderness, the thriving cities of Arnor long gone and the towns of Men spread few and thin.

When she trips and falls to her hands and knees her captor huffs in annoyance and drags her to her feet roughly. Bilba lets out a pained whimper when he pulls her close enough to feel his breath on her cheek as he hisses at her to stop stalling and twists her arm in such a way as to make her whimper turn into a cry and he promises more pain if she doesn’t do exactly as he tells her. He has pulled her so close, however, that she is able to reach the dagger in his belt and she is desperate enough, and frightened enough, that she draws it and plunges it into him with what little strength she has. He roars and rears back, letting go of her arm and dragging the blade from her suddenly numb fingers. It is too dark for her to see much, the light of the half moon is weak, but she sees enough to see him stumble and she turns to run into the trees with no idea whether the Man is following or not.

As a rule, hobbits move quietly and unseen. Headlong flight, however, does not allow for stealth, even when by accident or nature. Branches will be bent back, leaves will rustle, twigs will snap under feet that fall with more force than usual. The light and quiet breath of a hobbit moving at a regular, measured pace will give way to the deep and desperate pants of one frantic for air as they flee an unknown assailant. And so it is, that Bilba’s flight draws the attention of others camped just off the road and she finds herself swept into powerful arms and held against a firmly muscled body. She screams, high pitched and terrified, and claws at the shoulders and face of the one who holds her and lifts her from the ground as she thrashes.

“Easy, lass,” a rough voice says, his tone almost soothing though she barely hears it.

“Caught yourself a wild cat there,” another chuckles. “Should I be jealous?”

“Ah, leave off, Nori, and help me get her to camp,” the one holding her says. “See if we can get her calmed enough to find out what’s got her so spooked.” The words hardly register through her panic, although now that she has stopped running, she’s starting to realise that the one holding her, though larger than she is, lacks the height of a Man. “Take her pack, will you?” The straps of her bag are eased down arms that have begun to tremble, she has apparently lost the ability to move, and her legs go out from under her. The arms holding her tighten.

“You sure it’s a lass?” The one taking her belongings asks. “I can never tell with Shirelings.”

“Oh, aye,” the one holding her laughs, “this is a lassie. They _feel_ different.”

“I bow to the experience of advanced age,” is the reply. “Our fearless leader will be looking for us in a moment if we don’t get a shift on. Can she walk, do you think? Or will you sling her over your shoulder?” Bilba gasps and makes an attempt to push way but her limbs won’t obey, and her captor seems to be made of solid rock for all the good her attempts seem to do.

“Easy, lassie,” he rumbles, “no one here is going to harm you.” He swings her into his arms as though she weighs nothing more than one of her grandmother’s feather pillows, then makes his way through the trees, boots crunching the leaf litter left over from autumn and sticks cracking underfoot. His steps are quick and confident and before she knows it Bilba is being set in front of a fire. Tremors race through her as wide eyes fall on her new captors (or rescuers, she can’t be sure either way). Dwarves, she realises.

“A hobbit,” one with dark hair and piercing eyes says flatly.

“Aye,” the one who carried her here comes into her line of sight. His face is hard, rendered terrifying by the tattoos about his crown and the ear that ends in a ragged stump. His arms are inked as well, where the skin can be seen around the straps of leather he wears. “A mighty scared one to be making _that_ racket.”

Half a dozen pairs of eyes turn towards her and Bilba skitters backwards. In the back of her mind her mother’s voice reminds her that dwarves do not harm those they feel unthreatened by. Her eyes, however, turn down to her clothes as one of them comments that she is covered in blood and all she can hear is the thundering of her heart in her ears as she notices the rust stains on her trousers and jacket. Her hands are also covered, and she stares at them in horror as the voices around her drone on. She cannot hear their words over the rush of blood, doesn’t think she would be able to understand them anyway even if she _could_ hear them.

“Hey,” a soft voice says, and she turns her eyes away from her hands (there’s so much blood, she must have dislodged the knife, he cannot possibly have survived). “You’re alright,” he continues when he sees he has her attention. “No one here will hurt you.” He has a gentle face, she thinks, and he must be young because his features are not hidden by a wealth of hair like most of the others. He takes her hands in his, folding them out of her line of sight and apparently not caring about the blood on them. “You do need to tell us what happened though.”

“Fili!” The dark-haired one barks, and she shrinks away again. The young one, Fili, is still holding her hands, however, and when she moves the sleeves of her poorly fitting jacket and shirt pull up to expose the edge of a dark, vicious looking bruise on her wrist that Fili’s eyes find instantly. He tenses, though his grip remains gentle.

“Uncle,” his voice is still soft but there is a firmness to it as well. “You need to see this.”

The other dwarf approaches, his steps slow as one might use when coming near a frightened animal and he crouches beside his nephew. Roughly calloused fingers push her sleeves further back towards her elbow, almost tender for all the harshness of his skin, and the fully formed bruise is revealed in the shape of the Man’s fingers. Disgust floods across the dwarf’s face, but his expression quickly closes again when he looks at her.

“Does the blood belong to the one who did this?” He demands and she nods mutely. “A Man?” She nods again and the dwarf moves away to join his fellows once more. They talk quietly and though Bilbo can make out the words she has no idea what they are saying, the language is foreign to her. Another young seeming dwarf joins Fili and Bilba when the two who brought her here leave in the direction they came from. No doubt they have gone searching for the Man. This dwarf has a water skin and cloth in his hands and seems far more wary of her than the others.

“For your hands,” he says with a flush and she makes a noise that could be thanks or gibberish as Fili helps her to rinse and dry them.

“I’m Fili,” the blond says, although it is unnecessary based on his interactions with his uncle. “That’s Ori,” the other young one bows and mutters the traditional ‘at your service’. “Balin is over there next to my Uncle Thor and Dwalin and Nori are the ones who carried you here.” She blinks. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Bilba,” she stammers. “Bilba Baggins.” All thoughts of false names or pretty stories to explain her presence rush from her mind. She’s too tired and too scared to do much more than answer truthfully, although it is likely she will regret it in the morning.

“Can you tell us what happened to you, Miss Baggins?” He asks, his voice still gentle though his eyes dart to his uncle. Thor nods, almost approvingly, but his eyes are still hard when he looks on her.

She stumbles through the events of the day, not that there is all that much to them, culminating in her escape and as she speaks she comes to realise just how foolish this whole endeavour has been. She is almost completely ignorant of the ways of the world outside the Shire and it is little wonder that every hobbit bound to Moria has been sent an escort by the Lord Steward. She finds herself longing for the safety of her home and the warm embrace of her grandfather against the horrors of the world.

“Well, Bilba Baggins,” a familiar voice says, and she turns to see Gandalf the Grey approaching with Nori and Dwalin just behind him. “It would seem that you are far more stubborn than your mother ever was.”

“Gandalf,” she breathes.

“So,” he smiles, “you remember me.”

Of course, she remembers him, she wants to scream. Gandalf had been the one to come to her rescue during the Fell Winter, too late for her parents but just in time for her. Gandalf had been the one to take her to the Great Smial in Tuckborough and Gandalf had been the one to suggest that she be sent to Moria as all Took daughters are. In fact, as she understands it, Gandalf is the one who put that particular clause into the treaty in the first place.

Gandalf, quite honestly, is the very _last_ person she wants to encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilba has a lot of growing to do, but then I doubt there are many out there who haven't done something they probably shouldn't out of a desire to not offend or upset someone. 
> 
> I'm working off the theory that having lived in Bree for sixty plus years Ori, Fili and Thor will know quite a bit about hobbits, as would Dwalin and Nori having spent time there off and on, including the fact that they're almost painfully ignorant about the world outside of their safe Shire, even the ones in Bree will only be a little bit more aware of it all. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll have another chapter up on Thursday, I've got a busy week ahead with kids and house viewings and the like. Fun times.


	7. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before and Fili is given a mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to totally made up dwarf history and legends

Morning dawns, as grey and misty as the one before. Fili stares with bleary eyes at the hobbit girl as she stirs in her sleep, trying, and failing, to ignore the hissed conversation between Thor and Gandalf as they stand near the ponies.

“You know as well as I, Gandalf, that we do not have time to coddle a naïve girl. This quest is too important.”

“I want Bilba Baggins where I can keep an eye on her,” comes the low reply. “She’s had a fright, to be sure, but she’s an intelligent girl and she learns from her mistakes. We cannot risk sending her back to the Shire unescorted. Rivendell is on our route anyway, even if we do not stop there, we can send her in escorted by Balin.”

“Why is she so important, wizard?”

“Her mother was a Took,” Gandalf says it as though it holds all the significance in the world and the noise that Thor makes shows he obviously understands his meaning. “You know the truths which will be exposed once the artefact is retrieved and she is destined to have a part in that I think.” Thor huffs.

“And what are we to do with her until then?” He demands.

“Have Fili watch over her,” Gandalf sounds altogether too pleased with the idea for Fili’s tastes. “It will do him good to learn to be responsible for others, and perhaps it will keep him occupied when the boredom of travel starts to set in.” The next thing Fili hears is the rustle of footsteps and then Thor sits on the ground beside him.

“Why do I have to be the one to look after her?” Fili asks rather than wait for his uncle to start the conversation.

“Who else would I trust?” His uncle asks in reply. Fili stares at him.

“You trust everyone here,” he says, “you _know_ everyone here, even though I’ve only ever heard you speak of Dwalin.”

“You are right,” Thor shakes his head, “and one day you will understand my reasoning, I promise. As for the girl, you were the one to reach her last night. She trusts you as much as she can any of us. Truth be told, to have you watching over the girl will ease my mind. Should anything go awry before we are able to leave her in Rivendell it will be good to know that you are near her and away from the fighting.”

“I can fight, Uncle!” Fili protests. “You’ve been training me for it since I was a child. I know I failed in the Fell Winter, but-”

“My decision has nothing to do with that,” Thor cuts him off. “The failure was _mine_ , not yours. You can fight, lad, and I have seen few better at your age, but people are injured and killed in fights, friends as well as allies. I have lost much in my life and seen too many members of my family slain, I would not add you to that list.” Fili sighs. “You are not of age yet, lad. At least allow me to keep you safe until then.”

“I am not a child, Uncle,” Fili points out, “I’ll be of age in a little over a year.”

“Aye,” Thor breathes, “and you may have to remind me a time or two that you are not the wriggling blond pebble I brought with me to Bree all those years ago.” He leans to tap the side of his head against Fili’s and the young dwarf lets himself sink into the affectionate gesture. “You did well last night, where did you learn to calm a person like that?” Fili’s lips twist ruefully.

“It has always worked with lost children and being good with children seems to impress dams of any race,” he confesses and is pleased when Thor releases a booming laugh. It has been a long time since he heard such from his uncle, perhaps even before the Fell Winter. He knows it could be a long while until he hears such again and he treasures it, even as those who were sleeping stir and wake from the sound.

The hobbit girl, Bilba he reminds himself, does not wake with a grumble like the others do. She sits upright with a small shriek, skittering in her bedroll as she looks around her. In the early morning light Fili can easily see scratches and welts on her face from her headlong flight the previous night. Her dark curls are in complete disarray and fall unevenly about her shoulders as though recently hacked shorter. She’s clearly uncomfortable, Fili realises, and he turns his gaze to the others. Balin is feeding more wood onto the fire, a pot of porridge having been hung there at some point during his watch. Ori is sitting up, scratching absently at his chest and yawning widely as Nori’s nimble fingers weave quick braids through his sleep mussed hair where it is long enough to be done. Dwalin is already securing his and Nori’s bedrolls to their ponies and muttering to himself as he moves bags and supplies around. It takes Fili a long moment watching before he realises that the older dwarf is freeing up a mount for Bilba and it occurs to him to wonder whether she can even ride. Hobbits don’t ride, as a rule, and he suspects that as out of practice as he is the task of teaching her will still fall to him as a part of his job to watch over her.

“Can I sit here?” Bilba asks, drawing him away from his perusal of the camp.

“No one’s carved their name on it,” he shrugs. She stares at him for a long moment, as though baffled by his response and it occurs to him that he has probably said something that only dwarrow and those they drink with regularly might say. It’s a phrase that is used commonly enough in The Prancing Pony, even among the hobbits and Men who drink there. “Feel free,” he adds in clarification and she lowers herself carefully to sit next to him.

Awkward silence follows. Fili thinks of a dozen ways to start a conversation, but it is early, and he is on his second night of little to no sleep. Bilba is equally silent and after a few minutes he gets to his feet so that he can begin to load his own gear onto his pony. He suspects that the trip to Rivendell is going to be anything other than pleasant.

The following days prove him correct. Bilba has never learnt to ride and their pace slows considerably with her regular complaints and the need to correct her seat or help her back on entirely when her poor posture and jumpiness causes her to fall off. This, in turn, leads to Thor’s already short temper beginning to fray and Fili begins to contemplate the possibility of putting Bilba on his pony with him, if only to keep her in the saddle. Were he not so out of practice himself he knows he would not hesitate, it wouldn’t improve their pace much but it would stop Thor from glaring at them both every time Bilba opens her mouth.

“This is foolishness,” he hears Balin hiss one night when Fili’s bladder wakes him. “You _must_ see it. There is danger in what we are about, and you know as well as I the risk should something befall her. _Thorin_!” Fili shifts, the name is familiar and features in many of the tales Ori has shared over the years. It is _not_ , however, the name of any travelling with them.

“You have been told not to use that name,” Thor growls.

“It’s disrespectful to call you by any other!” Balin rumbles crossly.

“The greater disrespect is _ignoring_ my orders to do just that,” Thor responds. “This is important, old friend.”

“The truth will need to come out one day,” Balin mutters.

“Aye,” Thor agrees, “but it will be a day of _my_ choosing, when the time is right. Better it all remain hidden in innocent ignorance.” There is a pause. “I dislike her presence as much as you do, Balin. I am more aware than any other here except the wizard of the importance of that treaty, but the more I see of her the more I am convinced that Gandalf may well be correct to keep her with us. She is headstrong, and more ignorant of the world than even Fili and Ori. She comes with us to Rivendell, Lord Elrond will ensure that she is in the right place at the right time.”

Fili keeps still in his bedroll as her hears his uncle and Balin trade watches. What he has heard troubles him. The name Thorin will always be familiar, every dwarrow alive has heard it though no dwarf has been given the name at birth since the time of Durin VI, and that is something Fili does not understand in the slightest. Periodically, and in times of great need, a dwarf who gives his name as Thorin (usually Oakenshield but sometimes the stories call him Durin’s Shield) will appear and lead Durin’s folk to safety or victory, and then vanish again soon after. Even were his uncle’s name to truly _be_ Thorin, Fili can think of no reason that it would need to be hidden. It still brings him back to the idea that his uncle may not be who he has always claimed to be, and that is a thought that has trouble Fili since Gandalf’s arrival. This new evidence is not reassuring, Balin clearly believes that Thor should be addressed by another name and is obviously unhappy with the one he is being ordered to use. His uncle didn’t even say that the name isn’t his, just reminded Balin not to use it and that troubles Fili most of all.

He dwells on it after he has taken care of the business which woke him and falls asleep with the questions still running through his head. It brings dreams with it, dreams where his uncle tells him he is unwanted and does not belong. Dreams of Kili asking who he truly was or that his brother is gone because he worked out the truth that Fili was too foolish to see.

His confusion is no less when he wakes to see Thor smiling fondly as Dwalin recounts some childish mischief of his and Kili’s to Bilba. The hobbit is smirking and her eyes glitter with the light of the rising sun. Fili wonders how many stories Dwalin has told her, especially when she glances at him and bursts into peels of laughter. He flushes, though he has no idea why, and determines to turn his focus onto the fact that it looks like a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm building to something. I'm also going to drift more towards book canon for the Hobbit events in this although even then some things will be ignored or changed entirely. There will be one or two movie aspects, of course, but for the most part the movies, and canon, can be disregarded.
> 
> I'm hoping to have another chapter ready to go on Monday, but you may have to wait until Wednesday due to estate agents, school stuff with the kids and the HEAT! As far as this pale Cornish flower is concerned it's hotter than the fires of Mount Doom here. It's not, obviously, but we Brits tend to be built more for damp and misty and hints of sun rather than clear blue skies and heat. Our houses are built to keep the warm in, not out, and my kids aren't sleeping, I'm not sleeping and the study has become a sauna, so I'm not typing up as quickly as I would like because I can't be in here for more than an hour at a time. My washing went on the line and dried in half an hour, it normally takes all day.


	8. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba thinks and Fili does something foolish

Bilba regrets ever leaving the Shire. The journey had started well enough, she supposes. At least the part between Tuckborough and Bree had all gone according to plan. Everything _after_ that, however, had been a disaster. Far from _avoiding_ her scheduled trip to Moria it would now seem that she has fallen into the kind of company which will _ensure_ that she goes to that cursed mine. She aches in places and ways she had, until now, been unaware it was possible to ache, and this whole endeavour has given her a great dislike for ponies and riding in general. Especially _this_ pony. He seems to take some perverse amount of pleasure in dumping her onto the ground periodically, if the regularity of it and the hideous beast’s cheerful snorts when he succeeds are anything to go by. She finds herself very pleased that she didn’t bother buying one in Bree.

Then there is Fili. He had seemed so sweet and caring the night the dwarves had found her, gentle in a way that she had never expected dwarves to be with his smooth, deep voice and kind face. It had all changed the next day with silent indifference first thing in the morning and sullen irritation by the time they stopped for the night. There had been little improvement in their interactions over the following days. Fili is _young_ for a dwarf, she knows, she has overheard enough conversations to know that, like her, he is not of age and, like her, this is the first time he has left home. He doesn’t speak to her much at all, and when he does, he shows much the same impatience as his uncle, who apparently decided that having Fili watch over her was a good idea. For the most part Fili is a quiet, grumpy shadow.

Ori would be no better, he’s at least as inexperienced as Fili and he blushes and stammers every time he talks to her. That, at least, draws his friend out of his silent brooding enough to put a crooked smile on his face. She’s even found herself returning it a time or two, though she feels guilty for finding amusement in Ori’s discomfort. Were it not for the similarity of their names and the genuinely fond way they behave together Bilba would have trouble believing that Ori and Nori are brothers. Ori still makes more effort to make her feel welcome than Fili, Thor or Balin. Gandalf watches in amused silence half the time or lost in his own thoughts for the rest, and Dwalin and Nori, when not playfully bickering with one another, will sometimes tell her stories of Fili and Ori when they were young. They refuse, however, to tell her what happened to the Man she stabbed when she asks, although it’s obvious that Thor and Gandalf know. She suspects that means he didn’t survive and she feels guilty when she thinks on the fact that she hurt him, even though he was aiming to do, and have done, worse to her. Bilba has never had any violent impulses, beyond the occasional childhood temper tantrum and games with her more adventurous Took cousins. She would rather not know, come to think of it, and so she determines that she will allow them to protect her and simply not ask again.

Her companions and her mode of transport are not her only source of discomfort. As the days go on she begins to pick up the knack of guiding her pony and staying seated, in that Fili is helpful even though his patience only lasts for so long. The more comfortable she gets they more they pick up the pace and she wakes almost as sore as she was when she went to sleep. That leaves her peevish and quick to anger and leads to more than one argument with Fili when his lack of patience hits the wrong nerve. Her mood is not helped by the weather, overcast days with a cool breeze that only briefly give way to blue skies before the sun is blocked by heavy rainclouds. The resulting deluge leads them to stop early on the first day in an inn which allows her to enjoy a hot bath and a warm bed, and she finds herself hoping that they will remain until the rain ends. Instead they push onwards the following day and they spend a miserably wet night in hastily erected tents (purchased before they left town) under the thickest tree cover they can find and continue the next day. It is still raining, with no sign that it is going to stop and by the time they arrive at the bridge tempers on all sides have run short. The river is running high and Bilba eyes the wooden structure warily.

“Do we cross?” Nori asks, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the water. “Or do we find somewhere to wait for the rain to slow?”

“We cross,” Thor replies, and she stares at him. Bilba has seen what happens when rivers rise in downpours such as this. She has seen bridges washed away and hobbits injured or killed by wood and water.

“I don’t like the look of that bridge,” Dwalin replies, unknowingly expressing her own sentiments.

“The nearest town is a day and a half behind us,” Thor replies, urging his nervous pony forwards. “We do not have the _time_ to go back. Fili, keep an eye on the girl.” Bilba pulls a face and brushes a soaked curl out of her eyes so that she can look at Fili. He looks at least as miserable as she feels, and no less apprehensive.

“You coming?” He calls and nudges the pony with a smirk, obviously pushing his concerns to the side.

It is that smile, more than anything, which gets her to follow and though the bridge creaks under them they are on the other side before she has a chance to think about her nerves. They are quickly joined by Gandalf and the others, leaving only Balin and the pack pony to follow. The wizard looks down at her from under the dripping brim of his pointed hat, his lips twisted in an amused grin. She has no idea what, exactly, he finds so amusing about the whole situation and she turns away from him with a huff, her eyes once again seeking out Fili as they often seem to without her thinking about it. It seems like they are going to get across without incident when the bridge groans and shifts, collapsing as Balin’s pony makes it to the other side but dragging the pack pony in.

Dwalin moves instantly, pulling his brother’s mount forward and the attention is so focused on the white-haired dwarf that no one notices Fili moving until Ori screams his name. Bilba’s heart leaps into her throat when she realises that he has gone into the water after the pony, though how it could have survived is anyone’s guess. She can’t see Fili and from the noise the other dwarves are making they can’t either and time seems to stand still as she searches for him until, finally, she spots him clinging to one of the remaining struts near the bank but too far away to make it back. The pony is gone, Bliba knows it will be found down river in a couple of days, and she feels a pang of sorrow even as she reaches for the rope coiled on top of her belongings where Dwalin places it every morning.

“Thor!” She shouts, pointing to Fili and throwing the rope the young dwarf’s uncle. It only takes a minute for the older dwarf to tie the rope about his waist and the end to his saddle. Dwalin and Nori come forward, without prompting, to help. Then Thor has followed his nephew into the river, swimming with powerful strokes until he is able to grab Fili. As soon as they are sure Thor has him Dwalin and Nori urge the pony backwards, pulling Thor and his nephew back out of the river. Both dwarves are soaked through and Fili is shivering with the cold, his lips beginning to turn blue as she shudders in his uncle’s tight grip.

“We need to get him dry,” Dwalin says. “Nori, do you know anywhere?”

“Aye, I know a place,” is the reply, “about half an hour ride away if we can get the lad on a pony.”

“Thieves den?” Dwalin asks and Nori laughs.

“No, it’s a cave the rangers use when they travel the road towards Rivendell, they won’t turn us away if any are there and it’s large enough for us and the ponies.”

“Lead the way,” Thor orders, helping Fili onto his pony and mounting behind him.

The ride feels like it takes far longer than a mere half hour to Bilba, though they push their ponies as hard as they dare. Nori finds the cave easily, the entrance hidden between two large boulders and Bilba misses it entirely even with her sharper vision. They lead their ponies in and Bilba is relieved to see that the cave is deserted, though the supply of dry firewood suggests that the cave is visited regularly and restocked every time. Further exploration reveals a cooking stand, several pots and a small kettle, and Balin is quick to start a fire in the pit set near enough to the entrance for the smoke to be drawn out but not so near that it is on the earth made wet by the water that runs down the rockface above. Dwalin and Nori begin to help Thor and Fili which leaves Bilba, Ori and Gandalf with the care of the ponies. Gandalf abandons them to their task quickly, lifting the kettle from the shelf and filling it from one of the water skins before throwing in a pinch of something from a pouch in his bag and setting the kettle over the fire. Ori and Bilba do the best they can with the ponies, but most of their supplies were on the one that went into the river.

“Everything’s soaked,” she hears Dwalin say. “Nori’s blanket, one of my tunics and one of Balin’s are dry enough but that won’t do a whole lot of good getting you and Fili warm, Thor.”

Bilba looks over and almost immediately wishes she hadn’t. Thor and Fili are huddled near the fire, Fili in a tunic that is obviously too large, legs and feet unclad, and when the young dwarf shifts she glimpses enough to know that he is completely bare beneath the garment. A flush paints her cheeks at the realisation and she turns her eyes down to her own belongings, the only ones that Dwalin has _not_ seen fit to search through. It makes sense, of course, she’s easily the smallest member of their little group. _Her_ bedroll, however, should be dry. It had been used by her mother and aunts, made especially for their trips to Moria, and it rolls into an oilskin bag designed to prevent it from getting too wet during exactly this kind of downpour.

“They can use mine,” she pipes up, looking carefully at Dwalin’s face. “It’s dry, and I’ll be well enough for the night.”

“We can’t ask that of you, lass,” he replies, but she can see the relief on his face at her offer, as though he knows she is going to insist on it.

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m _offering_ it. You have to take it, we can’t let one of them become ill,” she presses. Dwalin does not object again and Bilba resigns herself to a cold night. It is worth it, however, when Ori sweeps her into a bone-crushing embrace in his gratitude and she finds herself sandwiched between Ori and Nori, their bodies radiating heat. She should feel uncomfortable, she thinks, but instead she feels accepted. It’s a nice feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be Friday and then I'll probably be moving onto weekly updates. My house will be officially on the market at the end of the week so my main focus has to become finding a new place to live (joy of joys) and that is never an easy task.


	9. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Bilba actually have a conversation and plans begin to change

“What were you thinking?” Thor demands the following morning. Fili looks up from the steaming cup of vile tea Gandalf has him drinking. His head aches and there is still a chill in his bones even after a night by the fire wrapped in Bilba’s warm, if slightly small, bedroll.

“That pony had most of our supplies,” he says, “our food, most of our water skins, the tents and cooking gear.”

“All of which can be replaced,” Thor responds and it’s clear he’s angry. Fili flinches. “We cannot replace _you_. We’ve lost Kili, I could not take losing you as well.”

Fili sighs. His uncle rarely talks about Kili, in fact, sometimes it is like Thor has forgotten his brother ever existed at all. Fili knows that this is not the case, Thor mourns for Kili as he does, but his uncle has never really been one for showing emotion.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” he says, “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Thor sighs.

“At least you are alive to learn from your mistake. We will stay here for the day, it is still raining and the last thing you need is another soaking.” Fili feels guilt flood him at the fact that they are losing time due to him and Thor must see the shame on his face because he huffs. “It is not your fault, lad, though my heart could have done without you diving in after the pony, we would have had to stop to search for it in any case. Dwalin and Nori are to head down river to see if they can find anything to salvage from it, tents and stew pots _can_ be replaced, but it is easier if we do not _have_ to.”

He leaves Fili alone, then, and the young dwarf stares into the murky tea the wizard has brewed for him, sipping and grimacing every now and again. The cave smells vaguely damp, a result of the quantity of wet clothes and bodies that have been in residence overnight. Almost everything is dry now, though the stock of firewood has been severely depleted by the need to keep the fire burning throughout the night, which is something that Balin and Ori have gone to remedy. He is almost glad of Gandalf’s orders to keep him out of the rain, otherwise Balin would be here in the warm and dry and Fili would be getting wet.

“How are you feeling?” Bilba asks as she sits next to him, her arms full of their freshly dried clothing.

“Better, thank you,” he replies, surprised at the question, “and I thank you for this.” He gestures to the bedroll that is still draped around his shoulders even though he has dry clothes on. To his surprise Bilba flushes.

“I’m not as selfish as all that,” she tells him softly, “no matter what some may think.” Her words are not directed at him and he is certain, without knowing how, that she is not referring to any of their travelling companions. He watches as she lifts a tunic, fine fingers and sharp eyes examining the fabric meticulously. It is one of Thor’s, Fili realises, and he sees that tear on the hem at the same moment Bilba does. He glances back at the pile of clothes and realises that she is making herself useful by doing their mending. None of them would have asked it of her, the same as they would never have asked her to give up her bedding for Fili and Thor’s sake, but she notices his gaze and her blush deepens. “I have to do something,” she tells him.

“No complaints will pass _these_ lips,” he smiles. “I wasn’t looking forward to having to do it with any anticipation.”

“I don’t think anyone does,” Bilba mutters. “We all take turns at the Great Smial, there’s enough there to keep us busy every day of the week.” Her breath catches and Fili realises that he has never spoken to her about her family. He hasn’t really spoken to her all that much at all apart from the occasional argument and curt instructions.

“The Great Smial?” He asks, because now he’s curious, he doesn’t have anything else that he’s supposed to be doing and he doesn’t have the energy for an argument. “Do you live there with your parents?”

“No,” her voice wavers and he has the sinking feeling he has stepped into something delicate. “My mother’s family live there. I can’t go home until I’m of age in a little over a year. My parents are dead, the Fell Winter took them.” Her eyes grow distant. “And you?” She asks abruptly before Fili can reply to her last statement. “You travel with your uncle, but have you left parents and siblings behind? I think Dwalin mentioned you have a brother.”

“My parents died not long after my brother was born,” Fili replies. It doesn’t sting to like it once did to tell her that he is an orphan. Bilba will understand _that_ at least. “I was too young to remember them. Until the Fell Winter it was me, Kili and Thor. Now it’s just Thor and I.” She makes a soft noise.

“You must miss him,” she whispers, her voice carrying sympathy and he does not see pity on her face when he looks at her. Her needle flashes in the firelight as she works, and it occurs to Fili that they have been travelling together for twelve days and he still knows almost nothing about her.

“I do,” he stares back at the fire, not wanting her to see the tears that prickle at his eyes. “He would have loved this. He always talked about leaving Bree and seeing the world, I wanted it as well, but he was so passionate about it. When he- I vowed I would do it for him, in his memory.” He and Thor don’t talk about Kili much, his loss is a painful subject for both of them and their friends seem to understand enough to only bring him up on the rare occasion. It comes as a surprise, then, to find that talking about his brother doesn’t hurt as much as he had thought it would. It’s not _easy_ , as such, but even this small mention is less agonising than he had feared it would be.

“I would have liked a sibling,” Bilba says, her voice wistful. “You would think my parents would have had more than one child, mother being one of twelve and father one of six.” Fili nearly chokes on his tea when he hears that. He grew up in Bree so he knows that hobbits carry and birth with much greater ease than dwarrow, but even aware of that the figure seems high. “I might have stayed if I had a sibling.”

“Why _did_ you leave?” Fili asks. He can feel Thor’s eyes on them, his uncle is watching with almost hawk like intensity and Fili wouldn’t be at all surprised if he is listening as well.

“It’s complicated,” she mutters, picking up a third tunic and frowning at the number of tears. It’s one of _his_ , he realises. “And starting to look more than a little bit silly now that I think about it.” He waits, he knows he can ask what she means, but part of him fears that asking will put an end to this open moment between them and he has been enjoying the conversation, even with the painful topics that they have touched on. “There’s a treaty between the dwarves and hobbits, or the dwarves ruled by the line of Durin anyway.”

“Longbeards, mostly,” Fili tells her, “quite a few Broadbeams and Firebeards too.” She flashes him a quick smile.

“Anyway, this treaty says that if we call for aid the dwarves _have_ to come.” Which makes sense, Fili knows that the Shire trades regularly with both the Blue Mountains and Khazad-dûm, vast quantities of preserved meats, pipe weed, and other food stuffs Fili can’t identify from a distance regularly fills wagons destined for those settlements. Sometimes they are hauled by one of the more adventurous families, but more often than not Men take the job since they are better suited for travel. The dwarves could find these supplies elsewhere, of course, but the hobbit’s prices are more reasonable than those of Men as they value food, drink and comfort far above gold and gems. “In exchange, however,” she continues, “a daughter of the Thain’s line must present herself before the throne of Durin on the day she comes of age and offer herself as a bride to cement the alliance.” No one has sat on Durin’s throne in nearly a thousand years, Fili knows. “My grandfather is the Thain.” She adds.

“But if it’s your duty,” Fili begins and stops when she glares at him.

“If my parents had survived the Winter I wouldn’t be expected to go,” she snaps. “Bagginses don’t leave the Shire, Bagginses don’t go on adventures.” Fili gives her an amused grin. “Oh, hush,” she hisses when the irony of her words hits her. He shakes his head but doesn’t stop smiling and after a moment she returns it almost reluctantly.

Dwalin and Nori return several hours before sunset, the rain has finally stopped and given way to the promised warmth of summer. They’re both a little damp, but not as wet as they could have been.

“Most of the food was ruined,” Dwalin says as soon as they’ve settled. “We managed to salvage the pots, but the tents and spare gear were gone, probably torn loose and washed further down river.”

“We knew that was a possibility,” Thor replies. “We’ve got supplies enough in our packs for a few days and gold enough between us. If we detour to the nearest town, we can resupply.”

“That’ll be a problem,” Nori says. Thor looks askance at him. “Nearest place we might be able to resupply is Rivendell.”

Fili’s uncle swears viciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My house is officially on the market (Yay!) which means less time for writing and more time fanatically looking for a new place to live. Updates will be weekly from here on, and you'll have plenty of advanced notice if I have to disappear for a time.


	10. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili finds out more about Bilba

They tighten their belts, something which brings no small amount of grumbling from most directions. Only Gandalf remains silent, eternal wizards not seeming to need quite as much to eat as the rest of them or simply more accustomed to times when it is necessary to go without. Bilba takes it the hardest, already restricted to three meals a day being reduced to two seems to leave her light-headed towards the end of the day. Hobbits need to eat more meals than the larger races, Fili knows, and while the poorer families will often only eat four or five times a day the wealthier hobbits are given towards up to seven meals a day. Fili might be able to stretch to four meals a day, although even with his work in the forge and morning training he would likely find himself soft and over round, but more than four would be impossible. Hobbits manage it as easily as breathing and even though they are prone to softness, portliness is only really seen in the old gentlehobbits and plumpness of mothers, as is expected in _any_ race except elves.

What they fail to take into account is that Bilba _is_ a hobbit and that means that she knows most of the wild things that grow in this region that can be eaten. Fili has never much cared for mushrooms or green things that grow. In truth he had no idea that there were _so_ many types of mushroom or that different ones could be found year-round. Bilba forages as they ride, stopping to pick mushrooms and flowers and plants that look like little more than weeds, but that crunch and burst with flavour on his tongue when she lets him try them.

“You’re sure those aren’t poisonous, lass?” Dwalin asks her one evening as Bilba deftly chops some mushrooms to add to what would other be a rather sparse rabbit stew. The look she directs at the large warrior is pure venom and Dwalin raises his hands. “It was just a question,” he says mildly.

“I’m a hobbit,” Bilba sniffs. “If I couldn’t tell if a mushroom was poisonous or not, I would have been dead before I was ten. There isn’t much a hobbit likes more than a good mushroom.”

Fili eats his share without complaint. The last time food was restricted like this was the Fell Winter and it brings back unpleasant memories. He suspects the same is true of Bilba and he knows that the hobbit suffered just as much as the inhabitants of Bree during that time. He will never _enjoy_ green food, but he can admit that the flavour it adds is appreciated. Ori picks and fusses with his, always more indulged by Dori than he should have been, and Nori glares at him over the fire when it looks as though Ori might try and dump his out once he has picked the meat from it.

“Don’t you dare,” he orders. “You’ll be grateful of that before we get to Rivendell, eat up.” Dori might have cajoled and bargained and ultimately given up with a sigh, preferring to fight other battles over Ori’s hair or craft instead of food. Nori doesn’t do that. Nori just grins at his brother and casts Dwalin the kind of sidelong glance that promises Ori _will_ eat his meal, even if Dwalin has to sit on him while Nori spoon feeds him.

To Fili’s surprise Ori eats it all and even offers Bilba an amazed compliment when he is done. Instead of crowing over her cooking success, as Fili would have expected her to do, Bilba ducks her head with a shy smile and mumbles that her skills over an open fire are nothing to those of her Uncle Fortinbras. He takes the children camping for a week every summer, she elaborates, and spends much of his time in every season teaching young Tooks and others what wild things they can forage to add to their meals. Fili offers up silent thanks to Bilba’s uncle while Nori laughingly promises to send him a bottle of fine dwarf spirits when this is all over.

The following day they come across a farm and are able to replenish their supplies enough to at least make their journey more comfortable. Thor still grumbles that they may have to stop in Rivendell, there being little else in the way of settlements between the Last Homely House and the Misty Mountains, but there is nothing else for it. Khazad-dûm may be under the control of dwarrow once more, but much of the rest of the mountain range is still infested with goblins and orcs. Nori suggests that they find somewhere nearby to camp, and then he, Dwalin and Ori can take Bilba into Rivendell and ask Lord Elrond for supplies at the same time. Thor considers it, though Balin advises against it. Gandalf seems happy enough with the plan, given that they need to move with all possible haste and have fallen behind. Finally, Thor agrees, but insists that Ori remain with the party and Balin go into Rivendell instead, Balin being more diplomatic than Dwalin and less prone towards stirring the pot than Nori. Fili expects Bilba to object to being passed off like a parcel to be delivered but she simply sighs and admits that she is ready for her adventure to be over. She tells him that she longs for a hot bath and a comfortable bed, and Fili can admit to the same. He can even admit to feeling a pang of envy at the thought that she will _get_ such things while he waits in the background.

They decide to wait in a burnt out farmhouse, although it’s location is a little over a day from Rivendell. Thor dispatches Fili and Bilba to keep an eye on the ponies while the rest of them split the supplies. Fili suspects that Thor just wants them out of the way and obeys grudgingly.

“Duty is important to dwarves, isn’t it?” Bilba asks after a time, breaking the comfortable silence that has been between them. The stars have begun to shine in the darkening sky, glittering like jewels and Fili turns his eyes from them to look at the hobbit. Her eyes are fixed on the ponies but he doubts that she is really seeing them.

“I suppose,” he shrugs. “I’ve never really thought about it,” he admits after a heartbeat. “Thor raised me on stories of duty and honour, taught me the importance of being able to fight and helped me to find my craft.”

“Is that all?” She asks. He studies her face, she’s tilted her gaze upwards now and he can see the rapid flutter of her eyelashes as she studies the stars. She’s upset, he thinks, though he has no idea why.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Family, honour, craft, Thor says those are the most important things. Why?”

“I’m beginning to get the impression that Lord Elrond won’t let me stay in Rivendell,” Bilba whispers. “I think I might end up going to Moria anyway, whether I want to or not, and I don’t think I’ll ever go home if I do.”

“You think the heir of Durin will suddenly appear?” He asks.

“No,” she laughs, but the sound is wet and Bilba swipes a hand across her cheeks. She’s _crying_ , Fili realises, and he has no idea what to do about it. “I think I’m more like my mother than I realised. They never thought she would settle down until she met my father, and even then she never seemed truly happy. There were times when she would look so sad, and sometimes she would just disappear for weeks or even months. My father would say that she had gone to see her brothers and sisters or her cousins in Buckland and I was a child and didn’t understand distances, so I believed him. She would come home with stories of the mountains or the roads to Rivendell and I thought they were just more tales from her trip to Moria. Now I think that going there woke something in her that she couldn’t put to sleep again, and I think it might be happening to me too.” By the time she has finished speaking Bilba is looking at her hands and her ragged curls have fallen to curtain her face.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” He asks. “Do you have a lover waiting for you in the Shire?”

“Torluc,” she mutters, looking at him with a rueful twist of her lips. “Torluc Proudfoot is everything that a proper hobbit should be. Every maid in the Shire wants to be the one to catch his eye and I’m the one he has noticed, even though I won’t be of age for another year and five days. He’s been courting me, as best he can when we have to keep it a secret from my grandfather.” That makes something cold settle in Fili’s stomach. Bilba would hardly be the first to engage in a secret romance, but from all the stories he has heard in Bree these things rarely end well and those that _do_ end in marriage often leave many parties associated with it deeply unhappy, including the lovers themselves. “Torluc will never go further from home than Bywater, Grandfather says, and, much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I won’t be happy with that and I’ll end up as odd and isolated as my mother if I go back, and where would I go if I don’t? To Bree? I’m sure it’s lovely but I don’t think I would be happy there either.”

“You could go wherever you like,” Fili smiles. “Once you’ve completed the ceremony you could go anywhere, see anything you wanted.”

“I suppose,” she sighs, “not that it’s worked out so well so far, and once every dwarf in Moria has sniggered at the silly hobbit.”

“What would they laugh?” She glares at him, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Because there’s no heir of Durin?” Bilba nods. “You just said it; duty _is_ important to my people. By presenting yourself, you’re doing your duty. They won’t laugh at you for that.”

“At least not to my face,” she sighs. Fili has no reply to that. Dwarrow aren’t exactly known for their openness with the other races and it is possible that there will be those who will find amusement in the fact that the hobbits obey the letter of the treaty. Balin has explained it to him, and he remembers that battalion of dwarrow who marched past Bree with Gandalf during that awful winter. He had only caught a distant glimpse of the wizard, even though he hadn’t known it at the time and would never have realised it had Balin not mentioned it. The dwarrow who came during the Fell Winter likely saved a larger number of hobbit lives than they ever realised. It is only natural that the hobbits would continue to honour their side of things.

“Can you fight?” He asks, the subject change is abrupt, but he thinks Bilba needs it. Besides, the only real experience he has of comforting anyone is Kili and he doubts that Bilba will appreciate it if he tickles her, the only other way of cheering his brother up enough to get him to talk or pull him out of bleakness had been to spar with him.

“I’m a hobbit,” she replies slowly, and he grins. “You know full well I don’t have the first idea.”

“Stand up,” he hops to his feet and she stares at him. “Stand _up_ ,” he laughs, pulling her upright. His swords will be too heavy for her, he knows, but he has a pair of long daggers hidden up his sleeves that should suit her well enough for the time being and he pulls them out with an effortless seeming flick that took him _months_ of practice to get right. Bilba seems suitably impressed, however, and that only makes him smile wider as he flips them so that he can hand them to her hilt first.

“I could hurt you,” she says and there is a tremble to her voice as she accepts them. Fili knows that she killed the Man who had tried to take her as a slave, but from what Dwalin had said that had been luck rather than training or intent.

“You won’t,” he assures her, then frowns, “especially not holding them like _that_. You’re more likely to hurt yourself. These aren’t carving knives.” She scowls and he circles behind her, correcting her grip and her stance with gentle fingers and softly murmured words, remembering how Thor did the same for him when he was barely into his twenties.

He isn’t actually _aiming_ to teach her anything. It would be pointless given the fact she is due to depart in the morning and go to Rivendell. He knows, however, that she is scared of what this trip may have turned her into and what she might find in the world. Perhaps this will give her the courage to ask someone, even if it _is_ an elf, to teach her so that she can keep herself safe. He closes his fingers around her on the hilts of the daggers gently, and slowly uses his longer reach to move her body through a few simple movements. He is probably pressed too tightly against her to really be proper by her standards, but Bilba doesn’t seem to care at all and she moves with him gracefully and almost without any effort at all.

“It’s like a dance,” she breathes, and he agrees, though it is completely unlike any dance he has ever seen or experienced. She rests against him as he moved her arms in arcs that are more graceful than practical and the scent of her fills his nose. She smells of the road, of course, he doubts any of them smell particularly fresh, thick with the scent of pony and dust and sweat, but there is a sweetness to her as well that he cannot quite place, and it makes him lean into her a little more. She sighs, turning her head to look at him, his chin just over her shoulder as he watches the movements of their arms. Their eyes meet, the swords stop moving and for a heartbeat they stand there with nothing more than a whisper of air between them.

A nearby crash makes them flinch away from each other and Fili looks around frantically, half expecting his uncle or Dwalin to appear with dinner and a lecture on proper behaviour. What he spots lumbering towards them makes the blood in his veins run cold and he drags Bilba behind a nearby, half ruined, wall. He gestures for silence, listening to the heavy steps pass them, then carefully pokes his head over the wall, barely far enough to see and hopeful that the creature’s eyesight is as terrible as the rumours would lead people to believe. He ducks back again as it turns, holding his breath and keeping a tight grip on Bilba until the vibrations of the earth grow less and that tells him the coast is clear.

A mountain troll just stole two of their ponies. Uncle Thor is going to _kill_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters in this one seem to keep getting away from me. They want to get longer and longer and ramble on. On the plus side the big narrative shifts are approaching as I drift a bit more away from the canon paths of the Hobbit and mash in more of the Belgariad (the events of which have been switched around and melded to condense five books into something more manageable).
> 
> The summer holidays are here (sort of woo) my house has had so many viewings so hopefully it will sell soon enough for us to get the dream house.


	11. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves discover the importance of abiding by the 6 p's, and as often as things change they also have a habit of remaining the same.

Bilba stares at Fili as the troll walks past, her heart is thundering in her chest and her breath is coming in shallow gasps. Once it is gone, they both emerge from behind the wall, eyes wide and cheeks pale. A quick glance reveals that two of the ponies, Myrtle and Minty, are missing.

“What do we do?” She asks Fili. “Do we go after it?”

For a moment it appears as though Fili is considering it, his blue eyes turning in the direction the troll took before he glances first at her and then at the blades they had so carelessly dropped. It had been a miracle the troll hadn’t noticed them, and Fili retrieves them before giving his answer.

“We tell my uncle, he replies, grabbing her hand to lead her back to the half-collapsed farmhouse.

“What about the other ponies?” She asks as he tows her along, his hand warm in her and his grip gentle.

“If that thing comes back, I don’t want to risk alerting it to the others. Uncle says trolls aren’t all that bright and they’re lazy as well, it’ll go after the ponies before it even considers us.”

That makes sense, she thinks. It only takes a few minutes to join the others and Thor scowls when he sees them. It’s obvious that he is displeased with their presence and truth be told Bilba still finds his gaze intimidating even after nearly three weeks on the road with him and even knowing just how much he cares about his nephew. Those eyes are somehow more intimidating than Dwalin’s tattoos and hardened face or the knife that dances over Nori’s fingers and flickers in the firelight. Even Balin has softened more towards her now and he reminds her a little bit of her grandfather.

“Well?” Thor demands.

“A troll, Uncle,” Fili says after a beat. Thor visibly tenses, already reaching for his sword. “It took two of the ponies.”

“You did well, Fili,” Thor says. “Show us which way it went. I have no desire to leave a troll behind us.”

Bilba is still holding Fili’s hand, she realises, and so she feels the way he almost relaxes with his uncle’s obvious approval of his decision to come straight back to camp. He doesn’t notice when she slips her fingers from his, his attention is all on his uncle and Bilba can tell that he is trying not to smile. She holds back as the others pass her, their weapons clinking as they follow Fili back to towards the glade where they had left the ponies. Most of the dwarves Bilba has met in her life have been in the Great Smial on official business, wearing mail and with polished weapons. This little group look poorly prepared by comparison, with no real armour and an odd assortment of weapons. Once they have found the trail, not a difficult task since their quarry has ripped up trees on its journey, their steps shift and become lighter. Every now and then there is the crack of a broken branch and Fili or Ori will flush at the glares sent their way by the others. Even the wizard seems capable of moving on silent feet, although none of them are as silent as a hobbit.

Finally, no short distance from their camp even though it would be nothing at all to a troll, they spot the light of a fire and hear the rumble of voices and the snorts and stamping of nervous ponies. Thor makes several odd gestures at Nori, who watches the way the dark-haired dwarf’s fingers flicker with sharp eyes. Then he nods and slips away, creeping closer to the fire light while Thor makes several other gestures towards Fili. The younger responds with an angry flick of his hands and, to Bilba’s amazement, the two proceed to exchange a series of gestures. Their expressions seem to indicate that this is quite a heated debate and out of the corner of her eye she notices that Ori makes a few small gestures of his own before shrinking into himself under Thor’s steely gaze. Dwalin just watches from beside his brother, large arms folded over his chest, as he waits for his husband to return and his expression seems to war between amusement and frustration. Balin mutters softly to Gandalf, who hums in apparent delight. The argument, if that is what it is, has not concluded when Nori returns, if anything Fili’s gestures have become sharper and larger, his fingers snapping every now and then in his frustration.

“Enough!” Thor snaps. “I have told you what I want of you, you will remain with Ori and the girl. Nori, report.” Nori leans against a tree, his expression grim and his ever-present knife dancing through his fingers. In the moonlight that filters through the leaf canopy he looks more dangerous than ever.

“Three of them,” he says simply. “Big buggers too, bigger than the sort that usually come out of the mountains at any rate. Been here a while from the sound of things,” he shrugs. “We could take _one_ , maybe two. They’re slow and stupid, but there isn’t enough of us to confuse three of them.”

“Can you get the ponies loose?” Thor asks. Nori pulls a face.

“Aye, I could cut them loose,” he replies, “I may not be as quiet as our hobbit lass, but I can get the job done. They’d notice the ponies once they were loose, though, snatch them up again and we’d be right back where we started except the trolls would know we’re here.”

“We cannot afford to lose anymore ponies,” Thor says with a growl. “Gandalf?” The wizard turns curious eyes on the dwarf, his eyebrows raise slightly. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Trolls are susceptible to sunlight,” the wizard muses. “If we could keep them occupied until sun up the dawn will deal with them for us.”

“Isn’t there any magic you cold use?” Ori asks, putting voice to the same thought that Bilba has. “Couldn’t you put the trolls to sleep or make the ponies invisible or some such?”

“My dear Ori,” the wizard exclaims cheerfully, “wherever have you been hearing such nonsense? I suppose I _could_ render the ponies invisible, but would I be able to make them visible again? For the two processes are quite different, you know, and as far as putting the trolls to sleep, I could indeed but the process would be slow, quite slow enough to cause difficulty should they notice my presence. I have not the compelling tongue of the White and given the circumstances I would not wish for it either.” The hobbit has no idea what that means, and it is clear that Ori and Fili have no idea either, it probably has to do with whatever mysterious errand has six dwarves and a wizard travelling together and she decides she doesn’t want to know.

“We are wasting time,” Thor cuts in. “If you have a plan, _wizard_ , let us here it. Otherwise we shall have to take the risk of sending Nori to cut the ponies loose and hope we are far enough away to escape before the trolls notice.”

“By all means,” Gandalf relaxes back against a tree, “have Nori cut them free, only wait until closer to morning so that we have a fighting chance should they notice us.” Thor glares at the wizard but his expression gives away none of his thoughts. Idly, Bilba wonders what use a wizard is if he cannot provide any sort of magical assistance with such a problem.

“Very well,” Thor says finally. “Fili, Ori, take Bilba back to camp and get some sleep. The rest of us will watch the situation here.”

Bilba dislikes this idea, she can see that it has a great many ways to go wrong. With such creatures as _these_ nearby, however, she can understand Thor’s reluctance to write _these_ ponies off as lost. They will not be able to move fast enough on foot to outrun them should the trolls realise that the presence of ponies must mean travellers. Fili and Ori are silent as the walk next to her, obviously unhappy with being told to stay away from a potential fight. Bilba is just as happy for it, her glimpse of one troll was fleeting but it gave her enough detail to know that she has no desire to get a better look. The two dwarves are still muttering when they reach the ruined building they had been using as a camp, though it is now too dark to see much of it, and she ignores them as she makes her way to the dimly glowing embers of the cook fire. With no one to tend it the fire has all but burnt away but she is relieved to find that dinner has finished cooking all the same and Bilba helps herself to the thick stew enthusiastically. Hunger, as her mother used to tell her, is often the best seasoning. This journey has given Bilba a far greater understanding of that phrase.

She crawls into her bedroll to the sound of Fili and Ori muttering in the secret dwarf language, something she hates them doing because it reminds her that as kind as they are to her, she is still a stranger and an unplanned addition to the group. The low rumble of it quickly lulls her to sleep she cannot understand the words, but the rolling sounds are soothing and coupled with the late hour it proves no barrier to her ability to rest. If only her dreams were as relaxing. She dreams of Fili’s hands on hers as he presses against her and leads her through the same gentle movements as he had when they were supposed to be watching the ponies. This time, however, no troll stops them and she gives in to some unknown impulse to kiss him in a way she had not the opportunity to in the waking world.

She wakes as the dream grows heated, frustrated and annoyed with herself. She has had that kind of dream before, of course, but she has only just begun to consider Fili a friend rather than a sullen shadow. She has obviously been out of the Shire, and away from Torluc Proudfoot, for too long if her dreams have resorted to _Fili_ for fantasy material. She resolutely stamps down on the fact that she found her dream to be quite enjoyable, and on the thought that Fili is easy enough on the eyes for a dwarf and rolls over to go back to sleep since it is still dark and silent. _That_ thought makes her open her eyes abruptly. It _is_ silent, too silent for one who has spent over two weeks listening to the snores of six dwarves. She should be able to hear Fili and Ori at least, and she gets up, feeling her way around the burnt-out ruin and finding only empty bedrolls. For a moment she panics and the possibility that she has been abandoned crosses her mind until she remembers the trolls and she realises that Fili and Ori must have gone back without her. She huffs and debates curling up and going back to sleep anyway, she has no place in a fight and can plead ignorance should Thor decide to express any of his ire in _her_ direction. The thought sits poorly and so she rapidly finds herself marching towards the place they had left the others and muttering all the while under her breath about ponies, dwarves and interfering wizards.

Her unexpected companions are _not_ where she left them, and it doesn’t take her long to track them down. Bilba is a poor judge of the night sky, being a gentle-hobbit rather than a farmer, and so has no idea how far off dawn might be. Which is a problem because, as she had suspected due to their absence, her companions had, indeed, decided to try and free the ponies. Judging from their current predicament it is just as clear that the attempt ended badly.

It takes Bilba a few moments to find Thor and the others, her eyes arrested by the sight of the three trolls. They are larger, by far, than Men, larger even than the orcs who so plagued Bree and the Shire during the Fell Winter. Their skin is mottled grey, such that had she not seen them move already she would have taken them for solid stone, and they are utterly hairless. Their eyes are narrow, their noses bulbous and their mouths wide with large, flat teeth that Bilba imagines would have little trouble reducing the bones of dwarf, hobbit and Man alike to dust. Their chests, arms and feet are bare but she’s relieved beyond measure to see that they wear trousers of roughly tanned animal hides stitched together with a slender, coarse looking, rope. Two are seated, one scratching his stomach while the other mops at his nose with a rag of dubious cleanliness. The third is standing, slowly rotating a crude spit over the fire and it is there that she first spies Dwalin, Nori and Fili. _They_ have been stripped to their undergarments and she averts her gaze with a blush, having already seen far more near naked dwarf on this trip than she had ever believed she would. She stays behind her bush as her eyes search the clearing almost frantically until she finally spots Balin, Ori and Thor. They are tied up in sacks but moving enough for her to know that they are alive. Of Gandalf there is no sign and she wonders where the wizard could possibly have disappeared to when the dwarves are in such obvious danger.

Bilba has to do something, she knows as she chews on a fingernail and thinks. She has no idea how soon dawn will come, but if she doesn’t distract or delay the trolls her companions are going to end up eaten. The thought of it alone is horrifying enough, she has no desire to see it or live with it on her conscience. The dwarves’ weapons and belongings have been left in a pile nearby and she’s quiet enough to grab a small knife and one of the daggers she and Fili had been using earlier as she passes. They probably won’t do her any good in the long run, but she feels better for having them in her hands.

“Are they ready yet?” One of the trolls demands and she ducks behind a nearby rock, holding her breath as she listens. “I’m starving, I am. Why can’t we just eat them raw?”

“Because it’s about time we had a decent hot meal,” the one cooking replies. “We haven’t had properly cooked meat since that farmer. We all know dwarves taste better cooked.”

“But it’s almost dawn,” the first complains. “Lets just eat these three and roast the others tomorrow.” The one cooking stops turning the spit, scrunching his face up as though he is actually considering this option and Bilba can’t have that.

“Eat any of them at all and you won’t survive to eat the rest tomorrow,” she says as she strides into the camp with a confidence that she doesn’t feel at all. “This lot escaped from my pens yesterday, I’d just finished giving them the treatment for Tube Rot as well. It’s highly contagious and you can’t cook it out.” The three trolls stare at her, she can almost see the wheels turning in their heads as she approaches. No one in their right mind tries to strike up a conversation with _one_ fully grown mountain troll, let alone _three_.

“What do you mean ‘Tube Rot’?” The one standing demands, suspiciously, obviously quicker on the uptake than the others and this will be the one to look out for. “What are you anyway?”

“What I am isn’t important,” she replies firmly, turning her mind to how her Aunt Donnamira would handle such a situation if given the chance to talk. Bilba may not be able to flit from topic to topic in quite the same way that her aunt does but she knows how to chatter aimlessly well enough. “I know how to procure for those who want. I was told dwarves and I managed to find this lot and lure them in. And would you believe it, I managed to catch two young ones into the bargain and one of them a _blond_ at that! Do you have any idea how _good_ the blond ones taste if you cook them just right? I was almost tempted to keep him for myself.” She can feel eyes on her from all sides and no doubt Thor is quietly plotting her demise as she babbles on about herbs and seasoning and the best ways to prepare dwarf. “Of course, having killed one and started to gut him I discovered the Tube Rot. It killed my father, you know, silly old fool didn’t think to check, and it ate him from the inside out in a week. I’ve given the lot of them the cleanser, obviously, but it would have been two days until it took effect. And now look what you’ve done! Do you have any idea how volatile it is? And you’ve gone and _heated_ them!” A glance up shows that the sky is beginning to lighten, and she knows that if she can keep this up she stands a chance of getting the others out of their current predicament alive. Two of the trolls have dazed expressions, their eyes glazed and unfocused from trying to follow her rambling rant about escaped dwarves and lost dinners. Unfortunately, the cook hasn’t been so easy to mislead.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” he says, eyes narrowed. “You’d have us just let them go, wouldn’t you? All that rubbish about ‘tube rot’, you’re lying through your teeth, you are,” he declares. Bilba’s mind spins as she frantically tries to think of a reply, her eyes searching for the first rays of sun or any sign at all of Gandalf. “I think we should eat you first, a little appetiser, if you will. You’re hardly more than a mouthful but I’ll bet you’re beautifully _juicy_.” She squeaks and backs away, finally spotting the point of the wizard’s hat by a large boulder. Not that she has time to linger on the reappearance of her previously missing companion, as a large hand reaches for her and she dives out of the way.

“Run, Bilba!” One of them shouts and she thinks it may be Fili, but the instruction is futile because she won’t be able to outrun these creatures. They may be slow and lumbering but they can still cover more ground at a greater pace than she can. She really should have stayed in the Shire.

“The dawn will take you all!” Gandalf cries, there is a mighty crack that makes the earth beneath her feet shudder and sunlight spills into the clearing. The trolls shriek when it hits their skin, crackling as they petrify even as they try to turn and escape. It is not a pleasant process to observe and Bilba watches in wide-eyed horror as the stone creeps over their bodies until they are rendered utterly lifeless, the fingers of the one who had been cooking mere inches from her. She trembles at the sight of it, confirmation of how close she had come to failing. Then the sound of the dwarves shouting cuts through her frozen daze and she hurries to the three in sacks, being insufficiently tall to help those still dangling over the fire.

She cuts Thor free of his sack first and he turns to head straight towards his nephew before pausing as he passes her. His hand comes down onto her shoulder with surprising gentleness and she looks up into blue eyes that are no longer as hard as ice but glow with the warmth of a blue summer sky. The smallest of smiles crosses his lips, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of those same intense eyes and he inclines his head, just a little, as he thanks her warmly for her attempts to save them. It is more than she ever expected to hear from him, and she flushes, again, before nodding in return and going to free Ori and Balin. Then, having been exposed to quite enough dwarf nudity, she ambles over to Gandalf while they free and dress themselves. The wizard winks at her and she relaxes against a nearby tree while they wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stepping up my posting schedule. About ten minutes after I posted my last chapter on Friday I sold my house. Where we will go after is still a little bit up in the air which will mean little the real possibility of little to no internet for a while at some point in the future. I really don't want to leave people hanging so I'm stepping things up. Sadly this means I won't be putting quite as much polish on things as I usually would. I need to destress, however, and this is the only way I have of doing it.


	12. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which apologies are given, shiny things are found and plans are changed whether our band of merry travellers want them to be or not.

Fili can acknowledge that he fully deserves the lecture in responsibility and following instructions that Thor gives him as soon as he is dressed after being released. His uncle had very clearly instructed Fili, more than once, to take Bilba back to their camp for the night and stay there. Fili can’t even really explain _why_ he disobeyed Thor. Before Gandalf had shown up Fili had never been prone to moments or rashness or even ignoring Thor’s instructions. Working in the forge and training can be dangerous if he takes it upon himself to ignore everything that Thor has ever tried to teach him or told him to do. In part it is a desperate desire to prove himself, even if he has no idea who he is trying to do it for, the other is pure confusion.

Thor is different since they left Bree. He doesn’t dress the same way, doesn’t act the same and isn’t treated the same way by others. Even Dwalin, who Fili has known most of his life, treats Thor differently and it might be that Fili is only now noticing it because he is looking for it because Ori doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. They were never poor in Bree, they never struggled, even though most of their clothes seemed to be second hand, and Thor was well respected as a master smith. No one deferred to him there the way that the others do now. It has become increasingly clear that his uncle knows more about what is going on than he claims to and even more obvious that Thor is not necessarily who he has always claimed to be. With this in mind, Fili has begun to question his own identity and it’s probably those questions as much as anything else that had prompted him to ignore Thor’s orders and convince Ori to do the same.

If not for Bilba they might all be dead right now, and Fili doesn’t need Thor to tell him that he owes her an apology. The hobbit is studiously ignoring them all, a blush painting her cheeks as she walks beside Gandalf. She’s obviously embarrassed, having been thanked by everyone else while Thor had been shouting at Fili. Even Gandalf had praised her quick thinking, much to her obvious discomfort, before pointing out that the trolls _must_ have had a cave. It is this cave they are heading towards now, the trail of broken branches and damaged trees telling enough to lead them to its location. They have little real interest in the horde, troll hordes are usually substandard items anyway, damaged or rusted from lack of care. Thor’s main concern is ensuring that they haven’t missed a fourth troll who may come looking for its missing companions come nightfall. Gandalf assures them it’s unlikely, but Thor is refusing to take any chances and when he orders Fili to wait outside with Bilba the young dwarf readily agrees. He has no desire to see or smell another troll again.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Bilba as soon as everyone else has gone into the cave. He digs at the damp earth underfoot with the toe of his boot. “I never should have left you alone and I shouldn’t have convinced Ori to come either.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she’s leaning against a tree, arms crossed and face set. She’s the only one of them who managed to get any sleep, but she looks exhausted. “It was frightening to wake up and discover both of you were gone.”

The way things played out had resulted in the best possible outcome, Fili knows. Bilba could easily have slept later and been found by the trolls the following night while trying to work out what to do, or she could have come looking for them and found nothing more than a pile of bones. They had been lucky, Fili realises, not just that Bilba had come looking and managed to distract the trolls for long enough that they could be turned to stone, but also that the trolls had decided to cook them at all.

“I didn’t think,” he admits, now able to understand why Thor had sent the three of them away. He had been trying to keep them safe and ensuring there would be someone to help Bilba to get to Rivendell.

“That appears to be a recurring problem for you,” Bilba observes, obviously referring to the incident with the pony. “But I think you did,” she counters. “You thought about your family and you wanted to be with them. I’m not angry that you left me, I’m angry that you didn’t include me in the discussion.”

“We didn’t think you would want to come,” Fili responds.

“Of course I didn’t,” she laughs. “But if I had _known_ you were going it would have been less terrifying to wake up and find you both gone.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he assures her.

“I suspect your uncle will skin you himself if there’s a next time,” Bilba yawns and Fili agrees.

They sit at the base of the tree, cradled by the roots while they wait for the others to emerge. Ori appears first, sneezing as he steps out of the dark cave into the bright light of early morning. He sits next to them and leans his head against Fili’s shoulder, rapidly falling asleep and the small clearing is quickly filled with the sound of his snoring. Fili grins at Bilba, tempted to join his friend in slumber but aware that he is supposed to be keeping an eye out for unexpected company.

“I can keep watch if you like,” Bilba offers, “I at least got some sleep last night and you have to be as exhausted as Ori.”

“Thank you,” he yawns,” but I shouldn’t risk rousing my uncle’s temper any more than I already have. You look like you need it more than I do.”

“I don’t think I’ll feel properly rested until I’ve bathed at least three times and eaten a proper number of meals,” she pulls a dark curl forward and scowls at it. “In fact, I’d happily sacrifice second breakfast and afternoon tea for a nice _hot_ bath,” her lips twist ruefully. “Listen to me, I’m about as far from being a respectable hobbit as I could possibly get right now.”

“I think we can probably take you a couple of steps further,” Gandalf says as he approaches. He has an unfamiliar sword at his hip and a short dagger in his hand. Fili looks at it curiously, all of his blades come in pairs by his own preference and he finds himself wondering why Gandalf picked up the tiny thing. “This should do it, I think, for now at least and I am certain that Lord Elrond would be happy to have someone teach you to use it.” Bilba regards the little blade warily, then accepts it would obvious reluctance.

“What am I ever going to need a sword for?” She asks.

“You are more like your mother than you realise, Bilba Baggins,” Gandalf replies seriously, “and you have advantages she never did. Come,” he straightens and turns away, “let us return to camp and find some breakfast, Thor will join us momentarily.”

Fili nudges Ori and his friend wakes with a start, blinking bleary eyes at him as he rubs his cheek with a gloved hand. Ori sits upright with a groan and Fili gets to his feet with a chuckle, offering his hand to Bilba to help her up. She smiles gratefully, still holding her sword with the kind of tentativeness usually reserved for venomous snakes. He finds it oddly amusing to see how wary she is of the little blade. It’s sheathed, so she isn’t likely to injure herself or anyone else and she’ll need it, if the fears she had confided in him before the troll turned up are anything to go by. Bilba already knows from experience just how dangerous the road can be.

Thor and the others join them as they walk and even Nori’s feet are dragging with exhaustion. The heaviness in Fili’s limbs only feels worse now that he is on his feet, his eyes drooping as he squints in the sunlight. He’s almost afraid to blink, half convinced that if he closes his eyes for even the briefest of moments he will fall asleep mid-stride. He wonders if Thor will send Nori, Dwalin and Bilba straight to Rivendell. Although it seems unlikely, he is also aware that they don’t necessarily have the supplies or time to wait another day, and none of them can say how long it will take Lord Elrond to gather the amount they will need, if the elf even agrees to help them at all. Part of him still wishes he were going with them. Rivendell might be an elf settlement, but it would still be worth the seeing. Thor will never allow it, especially after Fili threw himself straight into danger for the second time in a week.

Camp is much as they left it. The previous night’s dinner still sits, barely touched, in its pot above the fire, the embers of which have long gone cold. Bedrolls are spread around, creased and rumpled where Bilba obviously checked for everyone before realising she had been left behind and Fili collapses onto his with a jaw-creaking yawn. Dwalin builds the fire up to reheat the meal they didn’t eat the night before, adding a handful of Bilba’s foraged mushrooms into the pot and watching as Nori swings himself up onto the top of the ruined outer wall of the house, exhausted and watchful. Balin and Thor take themselves to a corner and immediately begin a hushed conversation that is a frustrating mix of clipped Khuzdul and rapid iglishmek, the gestures half hidden by their bodies. Fili can’t follow what they are saying, and even if he could he’s too tired to think on it properly. It very likely has to do with Rivendell, but since he isn’t going, and the others aren’t showing any signs of packing up Fili decides that it will not do any harm if he curls into his blankets and sleeps.

“Eat up, lad,” Dwalin rouses him almost an hour later with a bowl of stew. Fili smiles up at him gratefully and looks around as he begins to shovel hot food into his mouth. There are no signs that they have decided to break camp, though it has been straightened slightly.

“Thor,” Nori appears at Fili’s side, making him flinch, “riders approaching, four of them.”

“Orcs? Men?” Thor demands, tensing.

“Elves,” Nori replies. “We’re close enough to Rivendell to expect patrols, they may pass us by.”

“Or they may be looking for us,” Thor grumbles. “We do _not_ have time for this.”

“We may have to _make_ the time, Thor,” Gandalf disagrees. “We are in poor condition to move forwards today and _need_ the supplies Rivendell can provide. There is little sense in avoiding the patrol if they find us, and I would like to speak to Lord Elrond about last night in any case. Those trolls were too close to his borders for my comfort.”

“But not within them, and so not _his_ problem to deal with,” Thor replies, bitterly.

“You know Elrond better than that,” Gandalf chastises. Fili has no idea _how_ Thor could know the Lord of Rivendell, whether well or at all. He knows Thor must have had a life and experiences _before_ he came to Bree with Fili and Kili and he also knows that Thor doesn’t talk about it. The only thing Fili knows about the situation with any certainty is that Thor doesn’t _like_ elves, especially the ones who live in Mirkwood if the way he speaks about them is anything to go by. Fili has never actually _met_ an elf, they almost never come as far as Bree when they head west and the few that do, he has only seen from a distance. For all Thor’s harsh words about them he finds himself quite excited at the thought of _meeting_ an elf, he knows that Kili would have been excited too and it’s another thing about this journey he wishes he could have shared with his brother.

The question of whether or not they should attempt to continue avoiding Rivendell is put to rest by the sound of approaching horses, quickly followed by the arrival of the beasts and their riders. Fili has become accustomed to Gandalf and his horse over the weeks they have been on the road, but he has rarely been around so many horses. With elves on their backs, elves wearing armour and helmets and heavily armed, they seem somehow more intimidating and that is not a feeling he likes. Dwalin, Nori and Thor come forwards, placing themselves between the new arrivals and the youngest members of their party. Gandalf stands to one side with Balin, leaning heavily on his staff and with his eyebrows arched and a crooked quirk of his lips that speaks to his amusement at the posturing of Fili’s uncle and his friends.

“Mithrandir,” one of the elves dismounts, removing his helmet to show dark hair and a youthful face, although such is apparently average of elves. Gandalf steps forward and squints at him as he continues. “My Lord Elrond has had us searching for you for nearly three weeks.”

“Your father would do better to leave me to my own devices, Elladan,” the wizard replies.

“I’m Elladan,” another says, also removing his helmet as he approaches. “He’s Elrohir.” They’re twins, Fili realises as they stand next to one another. At a glance he can’t see any difference between them, though there _must_ be because Gandalf huffs a laugh.

“I’ve known you both for too long to fall for _that_ , Elrohir,” he shakes his head almost fondly. “What does your father want with me?”

“I think you already know, Mithrandir,” Elladan replies.

“Better than _we_ do by all appearances, since you are in the company of Thorin Oakenshield.” Fili feels the bottom drop out of his stomach, this isn’t the first time he has heard his uncle called Thorin and from the irritated noise Thor makes it holds some truth. “It is an honour to meet you again, Shield of Durin,” they both bow.

“A pity I can’t say the same,” Thor replies.

“If this is about the incident with the sword when last we met, it was all Dis’ idea,” the one Fili thinks is Elladan shrugs and Fili frowns at the mention of his mother’s name. “How is she? Is she with you?”

“She’s dead,” Thor says curtly, “gone sixty-four years.” The two elves look genuinely grieved to find out that she is dead and Fili wonders at the fact that his uncle makes no mention of his father, brother or himself. Confusion floods over him.

“You have our condolences,” Elrohir’s voice is momentarily softened. “However, your presence has saved us a trip, we had hoped Mithrandir would know where you were hiding.”

“I suppose Lord Elrond desires _my_ presence as well,” Thor grumbles.

“Uncommonly quick for a dwarf,” Elladan smiles, “at least, I’ve always thought so. All of your companions are welcome, of course, we shall have to insist on it, in fact.”

“Yes, Father was _most_ firm on that point,” Elrohir agrees.

“My understanding is that Elrond has to be firm with _every_ point where you two are concerned,” Thor observes caustically. Fili hears something that sounds suspiciously like a giggle from one of the still mounted elves as Dwalin lets out a loud snort. Beside him Bilba ducks her head behind his shoulder to hide her own wide smile as the twins assume matching hurt expressions.

“You wound us, Thorin,” Elrohir’s tone carries notes of false injury. “We shall overlook it, however, in the generosity of friendship and help you to break camp so that we might have a chance of reaching Imladris by nightfall.” Nori mutters something in Khuzdul that Fili _knows_ would have Thor washing his mouth out with soap if he were to do the same and his uncle nods in apparent agreement.

“There’s nothing for it, Thorin,” Dwalin says, startling Fili by using the name that the elves and Balin have. “You know better than I the abilities of elves, especially these two.”

You’re too kind, master Dwalin,” Elladan bows floridly.

“I wasn’t aiming to be,” Dwalin sneers. “They’ve found us. We go to Rivendell and deal with Elrond. The quicker we get it over with, the quicker we can get back on the trail.”

“I dislike it,” Thor responds, “but I see the sense in it. Very well.”

Fili wants to be excited as they all begin to pack their belongings, but he isn’t. He can’t be. Uncle Thor, he has realised, is _not_ who he has always claimed to be. There is no way around it, no way that he can pass it off as a mistake, not if the elves, not if _Dwalin_ , so obviously know him as someone else, as the Thorin Oakenshield of legend. Thor, _Thorin_ , barely looks at him, doesn’t even introduce him, all of the warmth that his gaze usually holds when it falls upon Fili is _gone_. Fili feels alone and adrift, bereft in a way he didn’t experience even after Kili was lost. All he can do is follow in silence and he doesn’t see the concerned glances from Bilba and Ori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elladan and Elrohir took on a slightly Fred and George feel in this one, I haven't read Harry Potter in about seven years, and I only watched the first two films, so I have no idea why. This world is quite different to the way it is in The Hobbit. Things have played in roughly the same direction so far but the major changes are coming.


	13. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally arrive in Rivendell

They don’t make it to Rivendell by nightfall. Their ponies are slower than the elves' horses and all of the dwarves are obviously exhausted. Upon hearing the reason behind it the twins dispatch their companions to look into the trolls, their cave and any signs that there might be others in the area. They are clearly disturbed to know that three trolls could be in the area for so long without being detected and equally embarrassed that the problem had been solved by six dwarves and a hobbit.

Bilba doesn’t really know what to make of Elladan and Elrohir. She has always imagined elves as stately, wise and serious, little prone to humour. Indeed, those elves she has observed on their way to the Grey Havens seem to be exactly that. These two are nothing of the sort, singing cheerful ditties as they ride and teasing Thor, whom they refer to as Thorin and Oakenshield and Shield of Durin with varying levels of respect and mockery as though they actually believe that this is the dwarf of legend and _not_ just a blacksmith from Bree as his companions have all insisted. The only two who seem surprised by the name that the elves use are Fili and Ori, but they are young and likely didn’t know. Fili sinks into silence, watching his uncle with an increasingly injured expression as Thor ignores him or addresses him simply as lad or boy, introducing him to the twins as little more than an afterthought. He must have his reasons, Bilba knows, because as little as she knows of dwarves it has always been very clear that Thor adores his nephew and just as clear that Fili idolises him.

She doesn’t get the chance to discuss it with Fili when they stop for the night as the blond eats his dinner in silence and retires instantly to his bedroll. Ori meets her concerned gaze with one of his own, but quickly falls into a hushed and heated discussion with his brother. Bilba suspects he is demanding answers and she wishes she could do the same. It's none of her business, however, and of all of them she is the least entitled to the information.

They leave early the following morning with the kind of reluctant urgency that comes with a desire to get something unpleasant over and done with. Neither Elladan nor Elrohir appear to have slept, though they don’t seem the worse for it, and they continue their cheerful chatter and teasing as they go. Today, however, they focus on Fili, gradually drawing him out and Bilba sees Thor watching with suspicion. He doesn’t try to put a stop to it, however, and she finds herself wondering at the sudden complexity of a relationship which had seemed so simple and she had been so envious of.

All thoughts of Fili and Thor, or Thorin no matter how ridiculous it seems, are driven from her mind as they emerge from a thickly wooded area and she catches her first glimpse of Rivendell. It is _glorious_ , she thinks, seeming to grow out of the landscape as though its presence was always intended by nature. From this distance she has no way of discerning whether it is one structure or a dozen joined almost seamlessly, a vast house or a hamlet tucked into the enchanted valley. It quite takes her breath away and fills her with understanding about why her mother might have wished to return so many times.

“Still looks like one good _sneeze_ might bring it down around our ears,” Dwalin comments. Nori chuckles even as Fili sniggers regardless of the fact that he seemed to get on so well with the twins.

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Dwalin son of Fundin,” one says loftily. “We’re well aware your pokey little holes under the mountains cannot possibly compare but there’s no call to express it in such a crass manner.” Dwalin splutters and Gandalf lets out a chuckle. Bilba hides her own smile behind a hand, more amused at the ridiculous need elves and dwarves seem to have to outdo one another than the exchange itself.

They continue forwards and she ignores her companions to look around her in wonder. Hobbits have long managed to make their homes part of nature, building them under hills as much as they can, but they lack the majesty and grace of Rivendell and _nothing_ in the Shire can compare to the age of this place and with age has come the organic feel that hobbits reach for but never achieve. This is not some mouldering pile of stones maintained out of a sense of duty or obligation, this is a home filled with love and clearly it is cherished by all who reside here. She wonders if Moria will feel the same way when she finally arrives there. Bilba still doesn’t _want_ to go, but weeks on the road with these dwarves has taught her more about their people than any number of stories has. Perhaps the experience won’t be as bad as she fears.

The twins have led them over a bridge into a courtyard, dismounting with far more ease and grace than Bilba or the dwarves can manage. Several others, evidently having expected their arrival, hurry forwards to take their ponies with their belongings still attached and the small party all make noises of protest. All except Thor, Thorin, who folds his arms over his chest and calls for silence. Elrond and his kin have no need for the road worn clothing and trinkets of dwarves and hobbits. The twins, meanwhile, are having a quiet conversation with another elf who has appeared on a sweeping set of stairs that, like the bridges they crossed, lack anything as sensible as a railing.

“We are to take them straight to our father,” Elrohir, Bilba thinks from the markings on his armour, says.

“And had you arrived four days ago that would still be the case,” the newcomer replies. “There have been additional arrivals since you left and my Lord Elrond believes that Lord Thorin, at least, would prefer to be properly attired before coming into their presence.”

“Thorin has never been much of one for ceremony, Lindir,” Elladan points out. “You know it as well as we.”

“Lord Frerin of Moria arrived six days ago,” Lindir whispers, but Bilba’s hearing is better than that of her new friends and so she hears him clearly enough. “Not far behind him was Thranduil of the Woodland Realm and his son. Thorin and the King of Greenwood-”

“Have an unfortunate history,” Elladan finishes. “These are our father’s orders for _all_ of his companions?”

“They are,” Lindir inclines his head and the twins glance back at Nori who waves one hand and Bilba sees a flash of silver between his fingers, a fine elven blade that obviously belongs to one or other of their escort dancing between his fingers.

“Good luck,” Elrohir laughs, moving to pluck the pilfered knife from Nori’s digits with envious speed and skill. “We will see you all once Linder has had his way with you.” He grins suggestively and Ori turns scarlet and splutters, Fili frowns in much the same way as his uncle. Gandalf and Balin roll their eyes at the blatant innuendo, but Nori turns his gaze to Lindir speculatively.

“Too tall and skinny for my tastes,” he shrugs. “I prefer them burly and muscular.”

“Believe me,” Elladan pulls a face, “we _know_.”

Nori cackles and to Bilba’s amazement Dwalin flushes. Nonetheless they follow Lindir when he steps forward, his face set disapprovingly, and are quickly directed to separate rooms. Bilba sees Fili hesitate on the threshold of the room he is taken to, looking towards his uncle who barely glances at him. Bilba offers him a brief smile before entering her own room. It is light, bright and airy with large windows and a bed big enough for eight hobbits to sleep in comfortably. Gossamer curtains billow in a gentle breeze, pristine white that seems to glow in the late morning sun. it’s beautiful, but not a beauty she can truly appreciate when she has to tilt her head so far back to really see it. Abruptly she finds herself longing for the sensible height of the ceilings in the Great Smial or even Bag End, though she hasn’t been there in years.

“I’ve worked with worse,” a voice says behind her and Bilba spins to see an elleth, tall and pale and willowy in the way of elves, her skin so clear and perfect that the hobbit’s insides churn with envy. “Come, there is a hot bath waiting and I am certain we can find _something_ to fit, you are hardly our first hobbit guest.”

For the next hour Bilba is bathed and styled and dressed. Fine oils scented with lavender are rubbed into her road ravaged skin and curls. Her hair is brushed until it shines, and the messy ends are trimmed to hang level. Torn and snapped nails are filed smooth and cosmetic powders are used to hide the dark circles of sleepless nights and rough red where her cheeks and nose have caught the sun. She is dressed in a fine gown of green silk, one obviously cut for a hobbit and with hobbit tastes in mind. When Bilba looks in the mirror she hardly recognises herself. She has lost weight on the road, though she still carries a little of the proper hobbit plumpness, and the dress has been hastily stitched to fit where it sags or is a little tight where a seam as been let out as much as they can. The fashion of it is almost a decade out of date, but it’s nice just to feel like a hobbit maid again.

Everyone else is waiting when she emerges, save Thor who is nowhere to be seen. Her eyes skim over Nori, Dwalin and Ori, who is fiddling with a thread on his tunic already and pass even more briefly over Balin before coming rest on Fili. He cleans up very nicely, she thinks, and he has even placed a couple of braids in his hair, although she has no idea if they mean anything at all. He’s still wearing his coat, in fact most of the others seem to be wearing whatever of theirs they have that is in good shape, and she notes that the collar of Fili’s coat is turned strangely. She doesn’t think, just steps forward and sets it straight, running her fingers through the fine golden fur that has obviously been brushed free of the dust and dirt of the road and marvelling at the softness of it between her fingers.

“Are you alright?” She asks him. He shrugs and grins, but she can see that his heart isn’t really in it. “Did you know?” She breathes and even though she doesn’t elaborate she knows he understands her when he shakes his head. “Do you think he really is?” Fili’s eyes drift away from her face at the sound of the door opening and she turns when she sees them go wide and troubled.

Thorin stands there, this cannot possibly by Fili’s Uncle Thor even though the face is the same. The tunic he wears is a rich blue, deep and crisp and hardly worn, embroidered with fine silver in the geometric designs favoured by dwarves. Bilba would put good money on that thread being real silver, just as she is willing to bet that the new beads he wears made of a brilliant white metal are mithril, the most valuable metal found only in Moria. Everything he wears screams of vast wealth and high status. Even his bearing is different, cold, purposeful and utterly regal. Without meaning to she finds herself staring at him in awe as he walks past them and, one by one, they fall in behind him until only Fili and Bilba are left and his expression is heart breaking, he looks utterly lost as he watches his uncle walk away. His steps, when he follows, are reluctant and so she slips her arm through his and leans close. The least she can do is try to be a friend.

Thorin is obviously familiar with Rivendell and just as obviously knows where he is going from his utter confidence (although she knows that he got them turned around more than once on the road). It probably has as much to do with Gandalf, who joins them only moments after they have left the corridor dressed in a new grey robe of finer material than his other and with his hair neatly combed, as it does with Thorin’s own familiarity with the place. Gandalf mutters in a low tone every now and again, usually when they reach a door or intersection, but allows Fili’s uncle (if that’s even what he is) to continue giving the impression that he knows where he is going.

Bilba expects Thorin to lead them to a hall, or at least a large room, where they end up is not like anything she had thought to imagine and a place she feels she should have expected all the same. They walk through a wide door into a circular space, with columns one side that is open to the sky and warmed by the early afternoon sun. Elves, dwarves and even some Men fill the space, gathered in their own groups as they talk, the susurration of their words seeming fill even this space as they talk in low tones that mix into an odd blend of languages that she has no chance of truly understanding. Her companions all draw themselves upright, tilting their heads in such a way to make them appear taller, larger, than they are. Bilba, however, and in the way of all hobbits, shrinks closer to Fili. Dwarves are warriors all, fighters and unafraid of being seen. Hobbits are farmers, quiet folk who prefer to be left alone and undisturbed, they prefer to avoid notice and that is exactly what the group have gained upon their entrance. A dark-haired elf bearing a resemblance to Elladan and Elrohir, with whom he had been quietly conversing, breaks away and approaches.

“Thorin,” the elf touches a hand over his heart, “it has been some time.”

“And yet, rarely does it feel long enough, Lord Elrond,” Thorin replies, confirming Bilba’s suspicions. She watches Elrond’s expression flicker and marvels at Thorin’s audacity when they are guests in the elf’s home. Elrond doesn’t comment on it, though whether through graciousness or familiarity Bilba couldn’t say.

“Balin, Nori and Dwalin I am familiar with,” comes the cool response and there is a slight hitch in his tone on Nori’s name that makes Bilba wonder _what_ he did the last time he was here. “However, the others are unknown to us. If you would be so kind.”

“Nori’s brother Ori, my apprentice Fili, who isn’t of an age to be left alone with the forge, and a hobbit we rescued on the road by the name of Bilba Baggins.” Thorin’s tone is almost indifferent when he introduces them, making no reference to his previously claimed relationship with Fili. Bilba isn’t looking at Elrond when Thorin introduces Fili, she is looking up at her companion and see the flicker of heartbreak on his face before he schools his features into neutrality so that he doesn’t show weakness in front of the elf. She squeezes Fili’s arm lightly but has no chance to do more as Elrond’s attention turns on her entirely.

“Ah, yes, I have received several increasingly frantic letters from the Thain of the Shire about Mistress Baggins,” Bilba flinches. “You are fortunate in your companions,” he addresses her.

“The good fortune was mutual,” Gandalf replies before she can. “Shall we get this over with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the chapter where the twins ceased to have anything to do with the story, having served their purpose by confirming that Thorin is Thorin, not just Thor, and causing a little bit of mischief. They refused and ended up in a couple more chapters and I already have other plans for them as well.


	14. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili finds out what he has gotten into

Fili, Ori and Bilba are immediately escorted from the room full of the representatives of the gathered people of Middle Earth and taken to a wide, open garden filled with the song of birds and the delicate, tinkling splash of a fountain. Bilba’s attention is, quite quickly, taken by three she-elves who approach and invite her to join them for tea. It is an invitation which she accepts with annoying alacrity for one who had, only a day ago, berated him for leaving her alone. He conveniently ignores the fact that he will still have Ori for company and that Bilba has probably missed female companionship. The whole thing, his bad temper, the possessive desire to keep what he knows close and the uncertainty that gnaws at his guts, boils down to his uncle. Fili scowls. If Thor even really _is_ his uncle. He is deeply hurt by the events of the last couple of days, having been treated so dismissively by the one who raised him, mostly ignored and sent away as little more than an inconvenience. He watches Bilba pause just long enough to mutter something to Ori and for a moment he thinks she will approach him too, but she just shoots him a small smile and darts away to join her new companions.

Fili flops down, lying along the edge of the fountain and trailing his fingers through the cool, clear water. His mind is racing, full of doubts and questions that he needs answers to as he desperately tries to work out where he stands in the grand scheme of the world. Who is he really? Is he truly the son of Vili and Dis or did Thor just pull those names out of the air because Fili asked? Is Thor really his uncle? Can he _be_ his uncle and still be Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf of legend and mystery? He doesn’t know, but every doubt he has ever stamped down on whispers in the back of his mind now. Every time he has tried to tell himself that Balin’s use of the name had been a mistake there had been other evidence to the contrary in the way the others behave and how his uncle’s name sounds incomplete from their lips, their lack of surprise or confusions when the elf twins had used the name Thorin. It all adds up to the idea that Thor is Thorin and Thorin cannot possibly be Fili’s uncle.

“Fili?” Ori approaches him almost tentatively. The young dwarf cracks one eye open to look at his friend. Ori is standing a few paces away, his eyes downcast and his fingers playing with the hem of his cardigan. His hands are bare, Fili realises, his ever-present scribe’s gloves missing for the first time in decades and the seemingly permanent ink stains on his fingers from many hours of writing for whatever coin others would pay him are gone.

“What is it, Ori?” He asks, not intending to sound as short with his friend as he ends up doing. Ori’s eyes turn away briefly and Fili sits, a frown creasing his features.

“You didn’t know, did you?” Ori mutters. “About Thorin, _Thor_? About Thor being Thorin. You didn’t know?” Fili stares for a moment, sitting abruptly so that he can look at his friend properly. They have covered this before, on the day before they left, and Fili still has trouble believing the ever-mounting proof that his uncle isn’t who he says he is.

“No,” Fili huffs. “I still don’t- If he’s Thorin he can’t be my uncle, and if he’s my uncle he can’t be Thorin.”

“Maybe it’s not that simple,” Ori suggests. “What if he’s like Durin? Reborn every time he’s needed?”

“Then he wouldn’t hide who he is,” Fili shakes his head. “He would have told me.” He glares at Ori who has turned away slightly, his gaze fixed on a small shrub of some sort that is covered in white flowers. “You _knew_ ,” he accuses when Ori refuses to look him in the eye. “How? How could _you_ know it when _I_ didn’t? How could you not _tell_ me?”

“Nori explained what he knew last night, he ordered me _not_ to tell you,” Ori whispers. “He said he didn’t know _why_ Thorin didn’t want you to know, only that it was important you didn’t.” Fili feels bile rising in the back of his throat. All of his companions, including his closest friend, have been keeping this from him and treating him like a fool.

“You’re my best friend,” Fili’s voice is low, but the depth of his hurt is still clear. “You should have told me.”

“Fili-”

“I had a right to know!” He shouts. “You should have told me!”

Ori looks like he’s going to say something else, make some excuse but Fili doesn’t want to hear it. There is nothing that Ori can say that can change the fact that he feels utterly abandoned, cut off from everyone he knows and loves and he’s so very confused. He backs away and sees Ori’s face fall, watches his friend reach out and darts from his grip, running almost without meaning to and unaware of where his feet are taking him or even the changing scenery. He just needs to be away, away from the people who have lied to him and kept so many secrets.

His heart pounds in his chest, his breath is sharp and increasingly hard to catch and still he runs. He runs until he finds himself ankle deep in a pool at the base of a waterfall and that is where he stops. He lets his legs give way and sinks to his knees, heedless of the cold water soaking through his boots and trousers. He has no idea how long he stays that way, chest heaving, pulse racing, sweat drying on his skin and clothes. He dimly sees the blazing orange of the sunset turn the waterfall into a fiery cascade and registers the numbness of his legs and the chill that seeps gradually upwards as the silvery light of the rising moon begins to make itself known. With the loss of the burning light of the sun so to does the burn of betrayal begin to cool. It does not become forgiveness, nor does it become acceptance. It grows cold, almost icy, a chill in his veins of resentment and loneliness.

He gets to his feet, stumbling at the lack of feeling in his feet. He pauses at the edge of the pool to empty his water filled boots and makes his way back to the guest quarters slowly, feeling the exhaustion from his own emotional turmoil and his flight keenly. By the time he gets back his trousers have dried, although his boots are still wet, and he walks past the shared common room quietly, not expecting to find anyone there and so surprised when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and stops his progress.

“Where have you been?” His uncle demands.

“Exploring,” Fili shrugs and doesn’t expand on his activities like he usually would.

“You were supposed to stay with Ori,” Thor continues. “I would rather you were not alone at any time and kept to this wing otherwise.”

“What does it matter to you?” Fili asks. “Given the revelations of the last couple of days I’d think you would be relieved if I hadn’t come back, no need to explain why you’ve been lying to me my whole life.” For a moment Thor’s face is so open that Fili can see the devastation in his expression, then it slides back to the regal stillness of Thorin and the younger is no longer certain of _what_ he had seen. “Did Kili know?” He demands. “Did Kili know you’d been lying to us?”

“I _am_ your uncle, Fili,” is the reply in a more gentle tone. “I have never lied about that. I had planned to tell you together, when you were older and ready for what it meant. Kili never knew.”

“Good,” Fili breathes, “I need to rest.”

He pulls away from his uncle, trudge down the corridor without looking back until he finds his room and barricading himself inside against the voices of Dwalin and Thorin as they move slowly past, their footsteps halting at the door and followed by a loud sigh before continuing on again. Fili strips out of his clothes and sodden boots and clambers onto the too large bed, flopping back against the pillows and relieved that sleep comes to him almost instantly, regardless of his too busy thoughts. By some blessing of Mahal his dreams are peaceful and nothing that he would remember upon his awakening.

He wakes the next day with that nagging feeling in his gut which usually bothers him most when he has done something he knows he should not have, something that would disappoint his uncle. An afternoon of distraught thought has been quite ample to show him that nothing is as he believed and that he needs answers, at least a few of them, for his own peace of mind if nothing else. After he has whatever answers the others will give him he can work out where to go from here. Thor has guided him all of his life, cared for him and loved him and Fili has no wish to believe that has only ever been a deception. Thor was rarely forthcoming with answers, however, and now that he seems to have taken on the mantel of Thorin Fili suspects he will be even less so.

He has risen late, he realises, later than he has _ever_ done, even on rest days, and there is no sign of his friends who he really owes apologies to for his behaviour and causing them concern. They are not at fault for the secrets Thorin has kept or for abiding by his wishes. He wanders aimlessly, first in search of breakfast which he pilfers from the kitchens while the cook is distracted with preparations for the evening meal, and then he makes his way into the gardens. Even with his exertions the day before he is restless, itching with energy that boils and rumbles just under the surface of his skin. He needs to _do_ something, and he has no idea what.

“Lost?” A half familiar voice asks and one of the twins hops off a nearby roof, his softly shod feet making not a sound as he lands, and Fili hides a twitch of envy.

“Bored,” he replies. “Where is everyone?”

“In the meeting of course,” the elf says, Elladan Fili thinks from the slightly more grey shade of his eyes.

“You’re not,” Fili points out. “Are they keeping secrets from you as well?” There’s something satisfying about that thought.

“Trying to,” Elladan shrugs. “Our father knows it is an exercise in futility at this point, but he tries all the same. Elrohir is the bigger liability anyway, he never did get the hang of thinking before he speaks.”

“I heard that,” the other twin appears. “Now will you be _silent_ before Ada hears you as well?” His blue eyes run over Fili for a moment and the two seem to have a silent conversation. “If you can keep quiet you can join us,” he offers, then tilts his head. “Are dwarves capable of silence?”

“We’re capable of a lot of things that elves aren’t,” Fili grins. The twins exchange a look and Fili suspects he has unknowingly issued them with a challenge.

“Growing to a proper height not being one of them,” Elladan observes, crouching so that he can give Fili a step up the wall, although Fili would probably be able to work out a way to the top without the help. Exerting himself that way seems pointless, however, when the elf has offered the help and there is a sort of satisfaction at the surprise on his face at Fili’s weight.

The roof they have climbed onto is a gentle incline that falls short of the height of the courtyard where the meeting is being held by enough that Fili can stand, the top of his head hidden by potted plants that have been evenly placed around the open edge and partially obscure his view. The twins sit with their legs stretched in front of them, their backs against the wall and their heads tilted back with the appearance of being completely at ease and with no desire to see what is happening. Fili, meanwhile, cannot hide his own curiosity as he takes in what he can. The chairs have been placed in a horseshoe, the open end in the same direction as the open end of the courtyard, two Men stand there arguing, one with hair as golden as Fili’s and the other with silver streaked chestnut hair and a cruel scar that cuts through one eye. The subject of their argument escapes Fili completely, though he catches phrases such as _“you were responsible”_ and _“wizards are slippery”_ among the other accusations. He turns his gaze away from the Men, eyes skimming over several elves with hair as pale as the midwinter sun and expressions equally as cold, several other Men with hair the colour of wheat fields separate these elves from Fili’s own party. Dwalin and Nori stand beside each other behind Thorin, who is watching with a haughty expression that looks far too natural on his usually kind face. Balin leans in to say something softly, his words lost in the noise of the Men, while Ori scribbles furiously with his pen. Fili feels a flare of envy at the realisation that Ori has been invited to take part, evidently as a record keeper.

“Enough!” Gandalf stands from his place between Fili’s companions and another party of dwarrow. “The matter of who is to blame for this betrayal is one we could argue over until the end of days. Rohan and Isengard have long been friends, perhaps they _should_ have seen the changes in the White Wizard, but the eyes of Men grow dull and fade long before those of dwarf or elf and _neither_ of those races noticed anything amiss. Nor, indeed, did Radagast or myself, who should, perhaps, have been the first to see it. The simple fact is; we are betrayed and before we try to retrieve that which was stolen, perhaps it would be best to know _how_.”

The Men separate and return to the empty seats where their fellows have been watching the argument with barely restrained hostility. Fili waits.

“Lord Frerin,” Thorin speaks, “perhaps you can enlighten us? The Jewel has been under _your_ guardianship.”

Another dwarf inclines his head and stands. His braids are blond, streaked through with hints of red that speaks of Firebeard ancestry and silver which speaks to his age. His eyes are dark in a way that reminds Fili of his lost brother and his thick beard is braided with intricately shaped clasps of gold and ruby holding them in place. Though he is obviously not armed he moves more as a warrior than as one accustomed to sitting for long periods, his hands seeming to seek the pommel of a sword that is not at his hip to rest against.

“Truthfully,” he says, “we aren’t entirely sure _how_ it was achieved.” There are some murmurs among the others. “As all here know, the Jewel is bonded to the elder line of Durin and only Durin’s heir may touch it.” Fili sees Gandalf shift uncomfortably, obviously aware of something the others are not.

“A pretty myth,” one of the pale elves cuts in, this one with a crown of wood that he somehow makes look more regal than all the gold in the world. “And evidently just that. Perhaps, as I argued when it was first revealed, it should have been left in the care of the Woodland Realm.”

“You know as well as I that the choice was the Jewel’s and not ours, yours or anyone else’s,” Thorin retorts. “We have discussed this _many_ times, Thranduil, the answer will never change.”

“And so you perpetuate the idea that the Jewel is bonded to Durin’s line and enlist the aid of _Halflings_ to keep the tale that the heir will one day return alive.”

“They prefer to be called Hobbits,” Ori mutters and then shrinks under the polar gaze of the elf king.

“If we might continue,” Lord Frerin interrupts. “Much as I relish the thought of _not_ sharing this failure of Durin’s folk it is a tale I would rather complete without the commentary of others so that we can _solve_ the problem.”

“Forgive us,” Thranduil sneers, “please continue to catalogue your failures.” Fili hears a soft huff from one of the twins but ignores it in favour of controlling his own reaction to the cruel words and stamping down on the hot spike of hate for the disparaging words of the elf king. To his credit Lord Frerin doesn’t seem to react, even if Thorin scowls.

“I’m so glad the potential doom of the world is a source of amusement for you,” the dwarf arches an eyebrow and receives a level stare in return. “The White Wizard has been an increasingly frequent visitor since I took stewardship after the untimely death of my father. He was always full of questions, questions about the Jewel, about the sword, about Durin’s Bane and how he defeated it. Ever more questions about his line and the loss to _all_ our kind with its passing. As so many of the answers belong to our kind alone, he was frequently frustrated by the end of each visit from lack of information.”

“You should have told me of them,” Gandalf says. Frerin shrugs.

“We though it simply an attempt to learn more about us, even if his tone and attitude left much to be desired and was worse than that of any elf we’ve ever had the misfortune to deal with.” That gains some chuckles from the Men as well as the dwarrow present. “A little under ten years ago he stopped visiting. We found out after the Jewel was taken that he had finally succeeded in putting one of our older librarians under the enchantment of his voice. It probably took all those long years of his visits to break through our natural hard-headedness. He must have gained whatever information he had been searching for as the visits ceased, but unaware of his control of the dwarf in question we assumed that he had admitted defeat and thought no more of it.” This is met with nods and murmurs of agreement from even Thranduil.

“It was taken nearly five weeks ago,” Gandalf prompts. “I received the raven with the information and _who_ had taken it, but not how. I would have sent him back with the question, but my focus was more on gathering my companions and going after it than in getting answers and so I sent him to fetch _them_.”

“We let him in,” Frerin admits, “he has always been welcome, and we had no reason _not_ to. The gate guards cannot be certain if he was alone or if there was another with him. They recounted his arrival with no consistency on that point, correcting themselves often when they used a plural rather than a singular and just as often the other way around too. Several who saw him arrive spoke of a small figure, about of a height with Thorin, but slight and hooded, who followed with shuffling steps as though of a great age. In the next moment, when questioned more closely, they had no idea there had been an accomplice at all.” Gandalf and Thorin exchange looks.

“Is there a chance the shuffling gait of his accomplice could have been caused by chains?” Thorin asks, his face strangely intent. Frerin pauses.

“One witness _thought_ she heard chains when the White Wizard passed her, but she did not _see_ his accomplice,” Frerin admits. “She was one of the guards in the throne room at the time of the incident, and we found her near death. She was the only survivor of whatever had occurred, though it created enough noise to draw our attention, and we assumed it to be merely an hallucination due to how close she came to greeting our maker.”

“It does not do to get your hopes up too high, Thorin,” Gandalf says. “There may yet be another explanation.” Fili sees the near desperate hope that had covered Thorin’s face fall away and he wonders what they could possibly be referring to. “Continue.”

“There isn’t much more to tell,” Frerin shrugs. “We tracked them to the Western Gate, which may be impossible to open from the outside but is easy enough to do from within if you know how. The Watcher in the lake outside, however, has rendered it unusable for us, at least. The wizard had no trouble getting past it.” He shifts his attention to Thranduil, though Fili cannot see his face. “What think you of our failures now, Woodland King?” He snarls.

“Calm yourself, Lord Frerin,” one of the Men says. “Even Thranduil must agree that your people did nothing his would not have done. We _all_ believed Saruman to be a friend.”

“Perhaps we should adjourn for the day,” Elrond suggests, “ _before_ tempers are permitted to fray more than they already have.”

“Time to go,” Elrohir breathes. “Come along, young dwarf, let us go to the practice ring and you can show us if you are any good with those two swords of yours. Better they do not suspect we were here.”

Fili finds himself spirited down paths and through corridors with one elf in front and one behind and his thoughts whirling with everything he has heard. At least he knows what they are following now. It would seem that Saruman the White has betrayed them and stolen the Arkenstone, the Jewel of Durin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships in Middle Earth aren't all rosy and easy, and the twins wanted to keep being involved, who better to get Fili into position to find some answers?
> 
> My house sale continues, we now have the mortgage agreement for the one we want to buy too (provided they don't find any mineshafts or anything else of concern, since this is Cornwall and we're basically granite and tin mines) so that's ours as soon as everything on both sides goes through and changes hands. I'm not sleeping, hardly writing and just drowning in a pool of stress. I'm not going to deliberately disappear, but if I do then it will be to do with the house.


	15. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili learns more and the trio pay the price for over confidence.

Fili joins the twins the next morning, bruised and aching after their few hours in the training ring sparring together. It had given him some valuable insights into fighting multiple taller opponents, though Thorin’s expression had been disapproving when he found them. Fili had spent most of the evening studiously avoiding his companions and slipped away as soon as he had eaten breakfast. The twins are also remarkably light hearted, as far as he understands it, and the time with them has helped to take his mind off the questions raised by Thor’s changed demeanour and identity.

Once again the pair help him onto the roof and they settle in for the morning. It starts off slowly, so much so that Fili regrets coming up here at all. Even Thorin seems frustrated by the fact that they are covering much the same ground as they had the previous day and Frerin’s answers to the questions asked of him by the Men are increasingly clipped and sharp.

“This is all well and good,” surprisingly it is _Thranduil_ who interrupts. “We established yesterday that the dwarves failed miserably to protect the one thing entrusted to them. As much fun as it is to remind them of the absolute disaster they have allowed to transpire, perhaps we would be better served deciding what must be _done_ about it.”

There is some muttering from the gathered dwarrow about that, and Fili hears the twins snigger. He glares down at them, though there is nothing that he can say on the matter.

“We were, in fact, ‘ _doing something about it_ ’ before we were accosted by the Lord of Rivendell’s sons,” Thorin replies. He is dressed as regally as he has been for the last few days and Fili cannot think of him as Thor in these clothes with those beads of mithril and sapphire in his hair. “We would currently be deciding which pass to take through the Misty Mountains in order to find his trail had our presence not been so firmly _requested_.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Elrohir whispers. “we were the very image of polite and proper behaviour.” Fili rolls his eyes at them.

“We may not catch up to him now, at any rate,” Thorin continues.

“That may not be the case,” Gandalf muses. Thorin makes a questioning noise.

“With the patrols sent out by Lord Frerin and the ravens who will have informed all of Moria’s friends and allies of this treachery there has been a constant traffic on all routes through the Misty Mountains. It will have forced our thief into hiding lest he draw even more attention to himself.” Elrond explains. “He will not have been able to resume his journey until the paths cleared.”

“The difficulty will still come in working out which direction he went,” Thorin says. “There was some debate about which direction he would take and whether he would go Isengard by a more roundabout route so as to avoid Lothlorien and the easy reach of Lord Elrond's patrols since he has long desired the Jewel for himself, or whether he will go to Barad-Dur having allied himself with Sauron. We know that until the ring is destroyed his shade lingers, and we know there is some speculation that the Jewel could aid him enough to find the thing and return to power.”

“There is, perhaps, some information it may be worth taking into consideration,” Thranduil says, his toner sharper than his bored seeming examination of his nails would suggest it should be. “For some time something foul has been gathering at Dol Guldur.”

“I hardly think the difficulties faced by the Greenwood are relevant,” Frerin scoffs, “you’ve turned a blind eye to that fortress for centuries.”

“My father asked for help,” one of the king’s party hisses, “his request was rejected without a hint of consideration.”

“And he came _so_ rapidly to _our_ aid when Smaug drove out our colony in Erebor!” Frerin snarls.

“Perhaps if they had given the aid we asked for when we first noticed the problem at Dol Guldur my father would have been more receptive to your plight!”

“Our lack of aid aside, Thranduil allowed the senseless deaths of ‘dams and _children_! Refugees picked off on the road by orcs before our troops could reach them, starving and dying of their injuries before the relief wagons could find them. Meaningless deaths that didn’t need to happen because _your_ pride was wounded!”

“Perhaps a recess for lunch is in order,” Gandalf suggests, obviously feeling that the matter has gotten out of hand and needing to take back what control he can.

“No,” Thranduil holds up his hand. “The history between Durin’s folk and myself aside, I still believe that the information will be useful. Over the course of the last few decades a figure in white has been seen sporadically entering the fortress. None of my people have ever been able to get close enough to clearly identify him and we had believed it to be a wraith of some kind conjured by the necromancer rumoured to dwell there. Certainly, such dark magics would draw fell creatures of all kinds to it and would begin to drain the life from my realm. It is not something that I have _wilfully_ ignored, I simply lack the power and numbers to deal with a necromancer alone.” There are some mutters at that. “I was interested, however, to note that _your_ people have found a way to deal with the dragon.”

“ _What_?” Thorin turns an angry glare on Frerin. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“We haven’t,” Frerin replies. “In truth there _is_ no way into that mountain without walking straight into the dragon’s waiting jaws. You know that as well as I.” The others miss it, but Fili sees Thorin shift uncomfortably. “I have a suspicion, however, although it made little sense when it was first brought to my attention. A caravan on the way back from the Iron Hills reported encountering a tribe of Stonefoots. We assumed they were lost or wandering, but what if they were headed to Erebor?”

“Smaug would eat them as cheerfully as he would any Longbeard or Broadbeam,” Thorin shakes his head.

“Perhaps,” Frerin concedes, “perhaps not. If they’ve been seen coming and going-”

“Hunting,” the elf prince cuts in.

“Hunting,” Frerin nods, “perhaps they’ve been feeding Smaug enough to keep him happy. They _are_ dragon worshipers.” There’s a collective shudder. “This does not, however, mean our thief will go in _that_ direction, if anything he will _avoid_ it. The Jewel carries great meaning for _all_ dwarrow, not just Durin’s folk. It would be easier for him to head south and take the Gap of Rohan that the high or low passes through the mountains.

“We have patrols there, Lord Frerin,” one of the blond men says, “and we are watching Isengard as well. He may be able to use the power of his voice on us, but those agents who have managed to get close enough say that the fortress has been abandoned.”

“They will only see what he wishes them to see,” Gandalf shakes his head. “Still, if it is patrolled heavily enough our thief will be forced to find an alternative route and, I confess, this discussion of a dark presence and a figure in white visiting it regularly has me concerned. Whether we go to Isengard by the Gap of Rohan or take the low pass and travel down the east side of the Misty Mountains the time it will take is not much different.”

“About a week or ten days,” Nori cuts in, “if you have ponies sure enough of foot. Taking the low pass takes us north, we’ll end up turning back south as soon as we make it to the other side.” Gandalf hums.

“Be that as it may, I would rather lose the time and pass by Dol Guldur to see if there is any trace of the Jewel than head straight to Isengard and give him the chance to ally himself with this mysterious necromancer.” Gandalf’s gaze becomes flinty. “It surprises me, however, that I am only _now_ hearing about this new evil.” Thranduil’s lips twist.

“I mentioned his presence to Saruman and Lord Elrond some time ago.”

“The White Wizard assured me the matter was being dealt with,” Elrond confesses. “I took him at his word. I had no reason _not_ to.”

“I wanted to go and investigate anyway,” Elladan whispers. “Ada told us to stay out of it.” He falls silent again when Elrohir kicks him, but Fili sees Elrond’s eyes turn in their direction and he almost doesn’t dare to breathe while he waits for the elf lord’s gaze to turn away.

“The direction we take can be decided when we leave,” Thorin declares, “we will not have to change direction for some days once we have left this place.”

“Will you take additional warriors with you?” Frerin asks. “I have a number with me and would be able to travel with a far smaller contingent in company with our friends from Rohan.”

“Too many others will slow us down.” Thorin shakes his head. “I will take my original party; Dwalin, Nori, Ori, Balin and my apprentice,” there is a barely noticeable pause as Thorin says it, as though he is reconsidering words or just the decision to take Fili with him. “Gandalf, naturally, will join us.”

“The hobbit, Bilba Baggins, will also join us,” Gandalf informs them. There is general outcry. “She has already proven herself a flight risk,” the wizard points out. “I want her where I can keep an eye on her. This treaty is too important to risk her not turning up on time.”

“She could be killed during this venture,” Frerin points out. “I will _have_ to insist on an escort if you take her. I gave Gerontius my word I would ensure his granddaughter’s safety outside of the Shire.”

“Very well,” Thorin inclines his head, “but no more than five.”

“My daughter, Adra, will be one of them,” Frerin adds.

“She is not of age,” Thorin objects. “Bora is as like to murder us both if you send her along.”

“Which is why Bofur, Bifur and Bombur will be with her,” Frerin replies. “The four of them were to have been Miss Baggins’ escort in any case.” Thorin makes an irritated noise.

“My son, Legolas, will also accompany you,” Thranduil says. “You will need him in order to get anywhere near Dol Guldur.”

The younger elf in question obviously objects, if his hissed words in elvish are anything to go by (and Fili cannot tell one elvish dialect from another). Elrohir snickers as father and son argue back and forth. It reminds Fili of his argument with Thor during the incident with the trolls and he finds himself sympathising with Legolas.

“What are they saying?” He hisses. Thorin seems content to let it play out between father and son, leaning back in his chair with an amused smirk on his face and to Fili’s surprise it looks like he understands every word being said.

“Legolas is objecting, obviously,” Elladan whispers in reply. “He is actually being far more unkind than I had believed him capable.” His twin nods, arching an eyebrow at a particularly vehement sounding utterance. “He is insisting that all dwarves are lazy, uncouth, foul of mouth and temper, as like to cut an ally’s throat as an enemy’s, slow of wit, prejudiced, secretive, suspicious and so and so forth. He’s clearly had little experience of your people.”

“We have visited the Stewards of Moria for centuries,” Elrohir elaborates, “we actually find you rather entertaining. Thranduil agrees with his son, but then who else would Legolas have heard it from? They rarely leave their wood.” He sighs. “A pity really, when he _isn’t_ being an utter prig Legolas is actually very entertaining. Ah.”

“ _What_?” Fili hisses.

“Your father thought he heard someone,” another voice says and an elf with hair that shines like sunlight appears over the edge of the roof. “I _told_ him my students would never be so foolish as to listen in on such an important event of such a delicate nature. I am most disappointed to find myself proved wrong, and more so to find you have somehow managed to corrupt the young dwarf.”

“It was my idea,” Fili insists, but the twins shake their heads.

“You cannot deceive Glorfindel that way, _mellon nin_ ,” Elrohir sighs. “He knows us better than even Mithrandir, and nearly as well as our father.” The newcomer smirks and nods. “We were already listening when young Fili happened upon us. We recognised his curiosity and felt it matched our own quite well. He has been the model co-conspirator.”

“Not something I had thought to hear said of a dwarf, Glorfindel comments. “Come along, all three of you, Elrond has requested I take you to his study to await the end of the meeting and his pleasure.” Fili winces. “I will have Lindir ensure Thorin knows where you are to be found,” he adds.

It makes Fili feel a little better to know that even the twins, immortal beings who are centuries old, fear their father’s ire to a degree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be introducing a couple of the other members of the original Company. Not all of them, I admit, but it's a different world with different rules and different requirements. I'll go into more detail about the relationship between Erebor and Khazad-dum later on, but it's a close one. Also, writing Fili without Kili is hard.


	16. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Thorin talk, and Fili discovers he is not as alone in the world as he thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much made up dwarf history in this story, just assume 99% of what I've written is a complete fabrication and you won't be far wrong.

Elrond’s study is a well-appointed room with large windows that make up the entire southwest wall. The two central windows are, in fact, a wide double door that leads to a spacious balcony equipped with wooden chairs and silk cushions. The curtains, in what seems to be the way of this elvish haven, are a diaphanous fabric in pale yellow and white that flutters in the breeze that flits through the open doors. The desk is of a pale, polished wood, carved with climbing vines of ivy and periwinkle. There are several bookcases along one wall, two comfortable chairs in front of the large fireplace opposite and several murals depicting events long passed into story and remembered only by the elves pictured there. It is an inviting room, or it would be were one not there awaiting the master’s displeasure.

The twins lounge almost indolently in the chairs in front of the fire place, though it is unlit on this warm day in early summer, and they are the very picture of nonchalant relaxation as they wait for their father. This must be something they have done uncounted numbers of times in the past and Fili wishes he could be as easy about it as they. Thorin is going to be furious he has been eavesdropping, there has to be a reason he was left out of it after all, and he has seen enough of his uncle’s anger over the years to know that this is something he is not looking forward to having his new friends see. The twins try to convince him that their father’s anger is nothing to worry about, obviously misunderstanding the source of his concern, as they also assure him that it takes far more than being caught eavesdropping, even on a meeting as important as this one, to truly outrage Elrond after the millennia he had lived. Fili doesn’t quite believe it, but only because Thor’s anger has always burned as hot as dragon fire and is just as easy to ignite.

“Thorin will not blame you,” Elrohir says when it becomes clear that Fili’s agitation is not subsiding. “He will be angry, of course, it would be odd were he not, but he will know where the fault lies. We could just as easily have left you to your lonely and aimless wandering.”

“I could have said no,” Fili replies.

“Indeed,” Thorin’s voice sounds from the door, “and you _should_ have declined.” All three occupants of the room turn to see Elrond and Thorin enter the study. The elf’s face is enviably blank, though Fili thinks he sees a slight tick in the corner of one eye. “I raised you better than that, lad,” he adds, and Fili bows his head.

“As I did my children, Thorin,” the elf lord points out. “However, it would seem my only success was my daughter. We have spoken of this before, Elladan, Elrohir,” the twins look down briefly, apparently contrite. Fili doesn’t know them well, but he doubts they are actually apologetic. Elrond likely feels the same because he sighs and goes to his desk.

“I’m sorry, uncle,” Fili mutters.

“I know,” Thorin sighs. “I had thought you would have learnt from your last experience of listening to conversations not meant for you. Dare I hope you had only _just_ begun to listen?”

“My sons?” Elrond looks at the twins. “Though it is rather too much to hope as far as you are concerned.”

“We were there from the beginning,” Elrohir admits. “Fili joined us some time after luncheon yesterday.” Thorin sighs. “It _was_ at our invitation,” the elf continues, “he had been left to his own devices and we saw little harm in it since _all_ of his companions were there.”

“The hobbit was not,” Elladan comments, although the addition isn’t remotely helpful. “She was with Arwen and her companions the last two days. Honestly, Thorin, given all we know of you it comes as a surprise that you would leave one so connected to you as a _nephew_ to his own devices.”

“Elladan!” Elrond hisses, his tone warning and he lapses into their own tongue in order to chastise both of his sons. The twins reply is more subdued, and they gesture to Fili and Thorin both before subsiding as quickly as the discussion had begun with a mutter of something that might be an apology. This time they _do_ sound contrite. “I believe, _mellon nin,_ ” Elrond turns to Thorin, “that you need to have a long overdue conversation with young Fili. Please, make use of the room, you shall not be disturbed here.” He gestures sharply to his sons who follow with only brief commiserating glances in Fili’s direction. Then he is alone with the one he had called ‘Uncle Thor’ for all of his life and the silence is crushing.

“Sit, Fili,” Thorin orders, and this _is_ Thorin, not his uncle. Fili obeys and they sit in silence that seems to grow into an almost impossible chasm until Thorin sighs. “No matter how many times I have had this conversation over the course of my long life it has never become any easier.”

“You aren’t really my uncle, are you?” Fili asks softly looking at his hands.

“Our relationship runs a little bit deeper than that, and is far more complicated,” Thorin leans back in his chair. “Your mother was not my sister. I knew her all her life, as I knew her father and his father back to the time of Durin VI.”

“That’s impossible!” Fili exclaims. “No dwarf could live that long.”

“If only that were true,” Thorin sighs. “If only I had the simplicity of an existence that would last a little less than three centuries, or the ease of rebirth as Durin is blessed with, though he always argued that it had more drawbacks than one might think.” He smiles, as though reliving a fond memory and it makes Fili consider the truth of it all. Durin VI had a second son, after all, although he is rarely mentioned in stories or histories and he had no heir.

“How have you lived so long?” Fili asks.

“Skill in battle,” Thorins huffs, “and the simple fact that Mahal, for reasons I cannot tell you, _wills_ it to be so.” He holds up a hand when it looks like Fili might object. “One day, madtubirzul, I swear I will tell you everything. What little you know now is enough to put you in danger, I have ever sought to keep you safe. I failed Kili, I failed Dis and I failed Vili. I have no desire to fail you as well. Your parents knew the truth, all of it, as you one day shall.”

“But-”

“Fili,” Thorin cuts him off. “Allow me to finish before you ask your questions." He nods and leans back in anxious silence. "The ancestor of yours I knew was an orphaned lad, his father was as a brother, but that lad alone was the only one of his family to escape Khazad-dum. He was not grown enough to be left on his own, but old enough and cherished enough by his family that I could never be anything other than Uncle to him. _His_ child grew up calling me ‘uncle’, as did the next and the next. To your family I have ever been ‘Uncle’. When your parents were killed I knew not if it had been by design or as a result of bad luck, so I took you and I took Kili and I hid us in Bree where I hoped we would be safe.”

“But we weren’t,” Fili whispers. “The Fell Winter came.”

“I have achieved the mastery of many things in my long life, Fili,” Thorin smiles but it is a brittle thing, “the control of the weather, however, escapes _me_ as thoroughly as it does Gandalf. Now,” he leans forward, “has this explanation laid to rest concerns raised by conclusions drawn from overheard conversations?”

Fili remains silent as he thinks, gaze averted as he stares at the empty grate, devoid of even the ashes of the last fire of spring. Does this change anything, he muses while the memories of his life in Bree with Thor flicker through his mind. If anything, Thorin’s bond with Fili’s family runs deeper than anything he can comprehend or possibly imagine. Fili knows his own grief from Kili’s loss, he cannot imagine living and loving knowing that such loss is inevitable and knowing that he would have to watch those he cares about whither and die before his eyes. He would turn from it, run from it, rather than experience that pain.

“Yes, Uncle,” Fili mutters, surprised Thorin hasn’t take him to task for eavesdropping.

“You understand that I have not told you everything and that my secrets are to protect _you_?” Fili nods. “Good. If you wish to speak of it to with the others, of course, they will answer what questions you have that they can, but none of them know all of it. I have known Dwalin, Balin and Frerin all of their lives. Frerin is, in fact, a kinsman of _yours_ , lad.”

“Really?” Fili perks up at that, the feeling of being so adrift without kin dissipating slightly with this news.

“Indeed, his mother was your grandfather Arli’s sister,” Thorin smiles. “It was my intent to introduce you _after_ we had completed our quest, but I see no reason we may not do so now, _especially_ as his daughter and her mother’s brothers and cousin will also be joining us. A dwarrowdam your age is far more appropriate company than a pair of mischievous elves.” Fili flushes but follows quickly when Throin stands and gestures for him to do the same. “Oh, and Fili,” he adds, “I will not be so lenient the next time you are found somewhere you ought not to be. It is only so _this_ time because I should have ensured someone was with you.”

“I understand, Uncle Thorin,” Fili replies. The name feels strange on his tongue, but his uncle’s eyes light up at this small sign of his acceptance. 

Thorin leads him through the winding corridors, his heavy boots loud upon the ancient wooden floors that have been worn smooth by centuries of feet. How many times have they been replaced, Fili wonders absently. Thorin is silent as they walk and even though the silence between them the last few days has been difficult and heavy with the weight of secrets and questions this one is comfortable and familiar. Some secrets are still there, Thorin has readily admitted that he hasn’t told Fili everything and as much as that chafes, as much as Fili wants to argue that he can take care of himself and that he isn’t a child any longer he knows that it will fall upon deaf ears. He also knows that this is neither the time nor the place and that as much as he insists that he has the skills needed to defend himself there is always real possibility that he will meet someone not just better than he is, but who is better than Thorin too.

The guest quarters Thorin takes them to aren’t far from where Fili and his party have been staying. Rough voices rumble from behind the closed doors, the comforting sound of dwarrow gathered together and enjoying themselves. The noise increases when Thorin opens the door and Fili follows with steps that are far more confident than he feels into a large common room filled with two or three dozen dwarrow. Eyes turn on them for a moment, conversation lulling for those few seconds before resuming once all present assure themselves that this is no threat.

“You found him,” Dwalin ambles over, tankard in hand and more relaxed than Fili has seen him in weeks. “Getting into things he shouldn’t have been?”

“Much like his mother used to,” Thorin sighs. Dwalin laughs and claps him on the shoulder.

“He had to inherit something from her,” he chuckles. “Are you going to introduce him to Frerin?”

“It is time,” Thorin shrugs, “and easier done now than when we depart.”

“Or when we inform the hobbit of her fate,” the other adds. “He’s on the balcony with his daughter,” Dwalin informs them, then, “they will be parted for some time and he feels it.”

“As we all would,” Thorin agrees with a glance at Fili. Then he begins to weave his way through the groups of chattering dwarrow. In one corner Fili spots Nori with several others and though he cannot hear the clacking of the dice he can see the toss and make out his friend’s triumphant grin.

“Thorin,” Frerin nods as they step through the door together. “Your business with Elrond is resolved?”

“As satisfactorily as may be,” the older dwarf answers. “I have brought someone to meet you. This is Fili, son of Dis and Vili.”

“At your service,” Fili bows, feeling curious eyes on him.

“Well met, cousin,” Frerin beams. “You look just like your father.” He offers a hand and the two clasp forearms. “Your eyes, however, are your mother’s entirely.” Fili grins at him, relieved at this easy acceptance. “My daughter, Adra,” he gestures to his companion. “It makes my heart glad to know that she will have kin on this quest.”

“Aside from her mother’s brothers?” Thorin arches an amused eyebrow.

“Aye, all the uncles in Arda cannot make up for kin her own age.”

Fili tunes out their conversation as he turns his attention to the young dwarrowdam he has been introduced to. Her hair is dark, though not as dark as his uncle’s it is certainly darker than her father’s. Her beard is short, but what there is of it is braided close to her jaw, parted at her chin and worked back into her hair to keep it out of the way. Her green eyes are soft, more like spring leaves than the hard emerald of Nori’s gaze and he flushes when he realises that she has been examining _him_ as closely as he has _her._

Their conversation is, at first, stilted, the awkward noises of new acquaintances where neither is certain of the other even though they are pre-disposed to think well of each other. They are kin and they will be travel companions, it would be nice to be friends as well. They have little in common, Fili has never been exactly poor, although hard work is necessary to keep them in comfort, but Adra is the daughter of the Steward of Khazad-dum and immensely wealthy. They have lived very different lives; Fili under sky and Adra under stone. It is their differences, however, instead of their similarities that allows conversation to flow. They compare their childhoods, their crafts and their families. Adra has three younger brothers, Mahal has blessed her family abundantly, all of whom are still at home with her mother. Her two uncles and their cousin will be coming with them and one uncle already has _nine_ children with another on the way. Many of the stories she tells Fili that night are about her young cousins.

Eventually their conversation has become so easy that when those of them expected to dine in the halls with Elrond are summoned to dinner it is the most natural thing in the world for them to sit next to one another and continue it. They sit with their heads together, trading stories of youthful mischief and Fili laughing when Ori turns scarlet upon being introduced to her. He barely spares a glance for Bilba, seated as she is with her new elf friends, but when he does she is glaring in his direction. He shrugs it off as irritation from being told that she will continue to travel with the company and turns his attention back to his cousin. By the end of dinner they are firm friends and Thorin and Frerin smile with satisfaction when they see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butchered Khuzdul: madtubirzul: golden heart
> 
> No chapter on Monday, I'm just coming out the other side of a three day migraine and that doesn't make for good writing time. It doesn't make for good anything really.
> 
> Honestly, I'm not completely sure what I'm going to do with Adra, I have three possible plans for her. Normally I'm fairly reluctant to add female OCs, I know they aren't everyone's cup of tea. I needed another girl in the Company, though, for a number of reasons and if you've read the Belgariad you'll see the parallels (and her name is on purpose). Fili knows a bit more, now, which means I'll be able to dive more into the whats whys and hows of the thing so that it starts to make more sense. This is where we really start to move away from Hobbit cannon and go on our own course a little bit.


	17. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we depart Rivendell

“You can’t be serious!” Bilba exclaims when Gandalf informs her that she _will_ be continuing on with Thoirn and his little troop of adventurers when they depart Rivendell in the morning. She is still reeling from dinner and seeing Fili, who has been so miserable and quiet the last few days, happily engaged with one other the other visiting dwarves. This news is just too much to take on top of that.

“Completely, dear BIlba,” Gandalf puffs on his pipe as he looks at her from under his tattered and discoloured hat. “I cannot allow the treaty between your people and Durin’s folk to be put at risk because of your stubbornness. I want you where I can keep my eye on you.”

“This is ridiculous!” She snaps. “If you’re so concerned why not just send me with Lord Frerin and his people when they depart?” Not, she allows, that he is wrong to be concerned that she might try to slip out of Rivendell at the first opportunity she might be given.

“Because Frerin has enough problems,” the wizard barks, “and he doesn’t need to deal with the potential political nightmare which would result from having to _chain_ you to your pony and lock you in your chambers.” He huffs. “ _I,_ on the other hand, have no such restrictions upon me. Believe me, Bilba, if it becomes necessary to tie you up and drag you along behind us, I will not hesitate.” She gapes at him. “With that in mind, I believe Liriel has packed your belongings and she will wake you in good time for breakfast. I suggest, my dear, that you get a good night’s sleep in that bed, it will be your last for some time.”

He sweeps from the room before she can muster a response. For a moment she stares at her packed bag and debates pulling everything out so that she has nothing to take with her and will therefore have to remain. Unlike her grandfather, however, who might once have given in to such tactics (and truly the only thing he _hasn’t_ let her have her own way with in the last seven years is the trip to Moria) she suspects that Gandalf would just tie her to a pony and make her leave with nothing. If not Gandalf, Thorin would.

Thoughts of Thorin makes her think of Fili. She’s been concerned about him since they arrived but hasn’t been able to find him before Arwen and her ladies had come to claim her each day. From his behaviour at dinner this evening she needn’t have bothered with worrying over him. He had been so absorbed with his new friend, in fact, that he hadn’t noticed her attempts to get his attention. It had made something dark and ugly coil in her stomach to see him sharing warm smiles and laughter with this unknown dwarf, to see their heads almost touching as they smirked and laughed in a way that she hadn’t been able to manage with Fili. She is angry enough, however, to fail to acknowledge that any lack of friendship between them may, in part, be down to her.

She falls asleep still thinking of dinner and wondering if all of Fili’s anger and confusion at the change between Thor and Thorin had been an act. She’s just as confused by it all when her bedroom door slams open the next morning and, instead of Liriel, Dwalin strides in already dressed and obviously eager to be on the road.

“Up you get, lass,” he bellows, and she groans into her pillow, “you’ve just got time to dress and eat a quick breakfast.”

“I’m not going,” she grumbles.

“Oh, but you _are_ , lassie,” he grins. “And you’ll be going in your underwear if I have to drag you out of that bed.”

“Brute!” She cries.

“Aye,” Dwalin laughs, “I can’t think of many who would disagree with you. You’ve got half an hour.”

Bilba doesn’t actually _believe_ that Dwalin will drag her into the courtyard in her undergarments, Gandalf had assured her that Frerin was sending the group who would have escorted her from the Shire with her as protection and chaperones (something her grandfather would have insisted on since unmarried hobbits of the opposite gender are rarely left alone), so she knows that the ones sent to guard her wouldn’t allow it, although she would be likely to be incredibly humiliated by the time they stepped in. Not only that, however, she also feels she has come to know Dwalin ever so slightly in the weeks they travelled together. _Nori_ , she could well believe would drag her into the courtyard naked, probably laughing all the while, but Dwalin hides a gentle soul under his gruff exterior and he might _threaten_ to humiliate her, but he would never _do_ it.

She yawns, her night had been poor, her dreams confusing and her thoughts too full to allow her to rest. Too full of the wrong thing. She is exhausted and with exhaustion the fight has drained out of her somewhat. It will return, it always does, but she has a long journey ahead of her and there will be any number of opportunities to slip away. There is little sense, she concludes, in fighting so hard _now_ that they watch her too closely later. Better to lull them into complaisance so that she can sneak away with more ease later.

She ignores the fact that this very same plan went horribly wrong the last time she tried it.

When she enters the courtyard after a hasty breakfast, she spots five new faces among the gathered company. The dwarf girl she recognises as Fili’s dinner companion from the night before and he is obviously as absorbed by her as he was the previous evening. Even in the light of the new day Bilba cannot work out why seeing them together as they are makes her insides twist and her temper flare. Fili barely spares her a glance and she’s tempted to stamp her foot in irritation but for the fact that such childish behaviour is beneath her.

Balin, dear soul that he is, quickly introduces her to four of the five, Bofur and Bombur, brothers, and the cousin Bifur whose hair is more unkempt than that of any dwarf she has seen so far, his forehead marred by a deep and vicious scar. He only gestures to her, which Bofur translates as a greeting with a wide grin from under his ludicrous hat. Bombur mutters a soft greeting, hands folded over his large stomach and beard braided into a single thick russet rope that he wears looped beneath his chin. Legolas, the elf prince of the Woodland Realm, regards her with an eerie stare, ancient blue eyes cold and almost emotionless, his mouth set in a grim line and his entire bearing tense. She suspects that, like her, he has no desire to make this journey. He spares her little more than a nod before going to his own chestnut mare and Bilba isn’t certain whether she is sorry he is gone or glad for it.

The name of Fili’s new friend, she learns, is Adra, the daughter of the Steward of Moria and the one who is supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on Bilba surrounded as she is by all these males who are of no relation to her. Privately, Bilba thinks that the girl ought to look to herself first given how she barely seems to let Fili out of her sight, after all if an indiscretion were to have occurred where Bilba might be involved it would have happened before Rivendell. She ignores the nagging thought that it very nearly _did_ , if she and Fili hadn’t been interrupted by a troll and that a larger part of her than she would like to admit would have welcomed it. She’s aware that by dwarven standards she’s hardly pretty, although by hobbit standards she has never been considered the greatest of beauties either, her nose being slightly too pert and her figure a little too trim. Adra, however, is probably considered a great dwarven beauty, at least if the way that Fili is fawning over her while Ori stutters and flushes is anything to go by. She bites her lip and huffs, ready to march over and cut into the conversation by introducing herself when Elrond, Thorin and the twins enter the courtyard.

“Just say the word,” one of the twins says as Thorin approaches his pony. “We can be ready to join you in a moment.”

“I have had my fill of you two,” Thorin grunts as he mounts, “it could be another two centuries before I show poor judgement enough to desire _your_ company once more.”

“I rather call it excellent taste,” the other says and Thorin rolls his eyes, though Bilba thinks she sees a flicker of fondness in his exasperation.

“Please, Thorin, you know how we get when we’re bored.”

“Indeed, I do,” Thorin’s pony shifts, “which is why I shall leave you here to be bored on your father’s watch, instead of tormenting myself with your boredom on _mine_.”

“You have my eternal thanks,” Elrond says dryly, and Bilba sees Thorin smirk at him. It is a small sign of friendship between these two races who are known to barely tolerate the existence of each other, and she wonders at it.

Quite honestly, she still cannot quite bring herself to believe that _this_ is really Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf of legend that her mother had told her so many half-remembered stories about. She knows the dwarves seem to believe it, even Fili seems to have accepted the idea, and the elves are quite happy to perpetuate the story as well (though she cannot imagine they are doing it to be helpful or respectful given the difficulties between the two peoples). Thorin plays his role well, she will admit, whether he is truly undying, as the stories say, or simply in possession of a hereditary position. A friendship with Elrond, who _is_ immortal as all elves are, would, perhaps naturally, grow over the course of centuries as the only amiable relationship the dwarf could have that would last more than a handful of decades.

“I thought dwarves and elves hated each other,” BIlba mutters to Ori, who blinks blearily at her through tired eyes, then turns his gaze upon Thorin and Elrond who are talking quietly.

“Hate is a strong word,” he says softly. “Our people have their differences and very rarely see eye to eye. Our history together is complicated, we were friends once, but it soured and failed. We say it was the fault of the elves, they blame us.” He shrugs. “I think the friendship between Lord Elrond and Thorin is more a mutual understanding. They have known each other for too long to truly give or take offense any longer.”

“Not that he will ever admit to it,” Balin adds. “Lord Elrond has earned Thorin’s friendship and trust, just as Thranduil has given him just cause for the enmity between them. It is never as simple as ancient history, Mistress Baggins. For every ten of our children willing to accept that the elves may one day betray us there is one, or perhaps two in this case, of them willing to overlook the past to form friendships.” She follows his gaze back to Fili who is obviously saying goodbye to the twins with a wide smile and exchange of handshakes.

Further discussion is prevented by Thorin declaring that it is long past time for them to have departed and that sparks the dwarves into action, their ponies trotting from Rivendell and although _they_ do not look back, Bilba does so more than once. She has a terrible feeling that the few days of peace that she had found there might be the last she will experience for some time. She rids next to Ori in silence for most of the morning, half listening to Fili as he tells Adra of some childhood mischief in Bree.

“That’s not how it happened,” she hears Ori mutter. “I had nothing to do with it. It was Kili,” he pauses and glances back, but Fili and Adra give no indication that they have heard him. That fills Bilba with an odd emotion, one that is warm but vaguely uncomfortable, at the thought that she knows something of Fili that he seems reluctant to share with Adra. “You don’t have to keep me company,” Ori adds, when he catches her looking behind them once more. “I doubt either of them would mind if you joined them for a while.”

“He’d mind,” Bilba mutters crossly.

“It’s good to see him laugh,” Ori continues as though he hasn’t heard her reply. “He doesn’t do it much since- well. I’m glad he has more family than he thought. It will make things easier with Thorin anyway.”

“Family?” Bilba asks in surprise.

“Lady Adra is his cousin,” Ori replies, “or near enough. His grandfather was her grandmother’s brother.”

Bilba makes a small noise of acknowledgement and glances back once more at the sound of Fili’s chuckle, though she cannot spot any familial resemblance between the two. It isn’t unheard of, in the Shire at least, for cousins to marry although it is still discouraged. In truth, nearly every family is related in some way or shape going back to the earliest days of their arrival in their thriving land. The family trees in some of the smials are large enough to cover all of the available wall and floor space if they were to be laid out.

So why does the thought that Fili has found new family and gets along so well with his cousin make jealousy writhe inside her?

She doesn’t know the answer, and the not knowing makes her waspish and short tempered. She retreats into herself for the rest of the day and her temper does not improve when no one seems to notice or care about her withdrawal, when even _Fili_ doesn’t attempt to discover what has upset her so because he is so absorbed in meeting and getting to know his new family. As one who has grown up with family (both wanted and not) around her Bilba has no idea how he can possibly be so excited to discover that he has more relations out there than he knew about. She is an only child, but she has aunts and uncles and cousins enough to have rarely felt that isolation.

She is not, in fact, properly introduced to Adra until they have stopped for the night, the open plains stretching to either side of the road they are following towards the Misty Mountains. It is a craggy collection of rocky outcrops, gorse, grass and heather, exposed and even though it is summer now the night is still cooling rapidly as the sun disappears below the horizon and the chill breeze drifts around them unhindered by any tree cover. With nothing to break the movement of the wind Bilba can easily imagine how this moorland must be harsh and unwelcoming to travellers during poor weather and is likely to be nearly impassable with the snows of winter. With no trees in the area to tie them to the ponies have been hobbled for the night and they graze with only the occasional snort, a sound more reassuring to Bilba than she had ever thought it might be.

“Alright you pair,” she hears Bofur say to Fili and Adra, “you’ve had the day, but you’ve a duty here, lass, and you’re ignoring it.”

“There’s no danger here, uncle,” the girl objects, turning wide green eyes upon the dwarf who seems, to Bilba, to carry merriment around him like a comfortable old coat.

“To Mistress Baggins? No, lass, I agree there,” Bofur inclines his head, “but you can’t be shirking your duty to talk to a pretty lad.” Bilba notes that Fili turns scarlet with some satisfaction and even Adra blushes and squirms. “We’ve weeks and miles ahead, lass, no need to trade _all_ your stories at the beginning of it.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Adra’s head dips and Bilba turns her eyes away, not wanting to seem interested or be caught watching when they approach.

She looks at her hands instead, her fingers still where they would usually be busy with some small evening task, mending or knitting. She managed to beg some fine wool and thin needles from Arwen while in Rivendell, needles that had promptly been trimmed and altered to fit her small stature, but she hasn’t been able to bring herself to start anything. Knitting has never been a source of great enjoyment for her, unlike reading or creating stories for the dozen or so faunts who occupy the Great Smial. Idle fingers, however, are troublesome fingers according to Aunt Donnamira, and so busy work is encouraged. It is still strange to be without it, even after a month, and it is a surprise to find that she even misses turning through the pattern books in search of something new to make.

A shadow falls over her, bringing an end to her musings as quickly as she had begun them, and she turns her gaze up to Adra and Bofur. She looks up at them with a slight tilt of her head, face carefully kept blank in order to hide the emotions that war within her at _this_ addition to her travelling companions. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur she could accept with grace and ease, Fili has paid little mind to them and they have been open enough with the rest of the group, Bofur and Nori even going so far as to sing several songs together which had turned the tips of Bilba’s ears pink. _Adra_ , it seems, is another matter. She doubts she would have taken such a dislike to the girl if Fili had paid her less attention, but a day of stewing has brought forth the recollection that for all the kindness he has shown her, Fili has given her his attention out of necessity for the most and rarely as exclusively as he has been Adra. To see him so eager to please is difficult to accept, even if the one he wants to please _is_ family.

“Can you use that?” Adra asks after a few moments of stilted conversation. Bilba glances down at the little sword Gandalf insisted on her wearing and shakes her head dismissively.

“Hobbits don’t use more than a sling, really,” Fili comments, apparently having decided to try and ease the conversation. “Bilba knows one end of a sword from the other, but that’s about it.”

“Surely,” Bilba says with a grin at Fili and knowing that it will rile him, “all it really takes is holding the right end and stabbing your opponent with the pointy part?” Fili splutters and, to Bilba’s amazement, Adra laughs.

“Expecting you to know how to use it was probably a bit much,” she admits. “I didn’t expect you to even _have_ a sword. We should teach you, though,” she adds, “there’s little sense in you having it if you don’t know how to use it.”

“That’s hardly proper,” Bilba objects, wondering just how many _more_ people she will be forced to have this conversation with.

“Running away from home isn’t ‘proper’ either,” Fili points out, “and we’ve already had this discussion.”

“Yes,” she replies slowly, “and then we were attacked by trolls.”

“Which proves my point,” he smirks.

“You’re _insufferable_ ,” she flares, ignoring the way her skin tingles when he grins at her like that. “You already know I can use a knife if I really have to.”

“Blindly lashing out in the dark is _not_ the same as knowing what you’re doing,” Fili lectures, seeming suddenly older than his sixty-nine years, his birthday mentioned on the road but not celebrated. “You were _lucky_ and such luck rarely happens.”

“Lucky?” She screeches. “You call being taken by a Man intending to sell me as a slave _lucky_?”

“You were lucky to get your hands on his knife,” Fili points out. “You were lucky you managed to injure him badly enough that he couldn’t follow. You were _lucky_ that injury killed him!”

They are standing almost toe to toe by now, oblivious to the fact that most eyes in the camp have turned upon them while Adra frowns at Bilba’s side. The hobbit doubts the girl had intended on _this_ outcome to her innocent question about the sword. - _Serves her right-_ a vicious part of her thinks, - _for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.-_ The reminder of her earlier foolishness, the contempt in Fili’s voice as he reminds her that she _took_ a life as a result of that foolishness makes her realise that she hasn’t thought about it or really processed it. She hasn’t _wanted_ to, and she has lashed out before she thinks, tears prickling at her eyes as her palm hits his scruff covered cheek with an audible crack.

“Enough,” Adra steps in before Fili can move and before Bilba has a chance to think about what she has just done. “Both of you, _enough_. _Clearly,_ there are some aspects of this that I should have been made aware of,” her eyes flicker to Thorin and Gandalf, though the dwarf is glaring at them. “I’m _young_ , Thorin, not _stupid_ ,” she directs at Fili’s angry uncle who nods in grudging agreement.

Bilba just uses the interaction as a moment to take a shuddering breath and try to get her tears under control. The last thing she needs is to break down weeping and make this whole display more undignified than it already is.

“Come, Bilba,” Adra puts an arm around her shoulders and she flinches, “tell me _everything_ about how you came to be in Rivendell.”

She is led to her bedroll, which is set up slightly apart from the others, with another unfamiliar blanket beside it. They sit together, wrapped in their blankest, and Bilba finds herself telling Adra everything that has happened. She talks even though she doesn’t want to like the dwarf, even though she would rather forget everything that has happened to her since she left Tuckborough, and Adra listens, her face grave and concerned, and her dinner, when Bifur brings it over, almost forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter next week as well. I've got a funeral tomorrow, a lot of stuff with the house sale happening, two bored hobbits causing mischief and eating me out of house and home. It's become crazy and isn't a good writing environment (although that usually works better for me than peace and solitude).


	18. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which peace is made and the next stage of their journey comes closer

Bilba doesn’t speak to Fili for two days after their confrontation and that is not for lack of trying on Fili’s part. He had known he had gone too far and touched on something the hobbit wasn’t ready to admit had happened to her as soon as the words had left his mouth. It does her no good to bury it or ignore it as she does, but Thor always taught him that it was better to acknowledge and find ways to live with such things than to hide from them. Dwarrow are built for battle, however, raised to it and no dwarf leaves their parents home unable to use at least two weapons with some measure of proficiency. Hobbits are _not_ made for war, they are made to love and nurture all things growing and green. They are a gentle people from a gentle place, and they know nothing of the world beyond their borders should they not seek to learn it. Few do.

At least Adra and Ori are still talking to him, though neither of them has been quiet in their disapproval of the verbal jabs he had taken at Bilba. Those jabs have had more than one consequence. The first being that Dwalin, Nori and his uncle have decided that Fili has been allowed to be lax in his own practice for too long. They have all sparred with him over the last two days, holding nothing back, and he has found himself on his back gasping for air more than once. Fili is good, Dwalin and Thorin have trained him to be, but they have decades of experience on him and they are making certain that he knows it. The second, of course, is that Adra has insisted Bilba learn to properly use the little sword Gandalf had given her, much to the hobbit’s obvious displeasure. Fili suspects that part of the reason Adra chooses to ride with him each day is to get away from Bilba’s increasingly sharp tongue. Bofur bears up under it better than any of them and so he spends most of the day riding with her, when she isn’t sulking near Legolas that is.

Ultimately Bilba starts talking to Fili again when he lands with a hard crack on a stone as Nori tosses him. The lithe dwarf is stronger than he looks and light on his feet. He also seems to have picked up a few tricks from Legolas, who he will goad into a fight most evenings once he has finished bouncing Fili on his head a few times.

“That looks like it hurt,” she comments, a little too gleefully for his tastes. He grunts. “Good.”

“Maybe _you_ should give it a try,” he gets awkwardly to his feet, aware that Nori is watching him with an arched brow and if this were a battle he would be dead already, “see how long _you_ last.” She laughs.

“I wouldn’t manage more than a second,” she says, almost loftily and he has no idea why she thinks that is a good thing, “and I haven’t fallen so low as to try, either. You should keep at it, though. You never know, once Nori has broken a few more rocks with your thick skull he might have finally knocked your brain hard enough to make it actually _work_.”

She smiles that barbed little smirk at him and limps closer to the fire. She isn’t fairing so well in her training either, he thinks with a grin, but Adra certainly goes easier on her than Nori, Dwalin and Thorin do on him. Her glee at the thorough thrashing he is given on a nightly basis, however, is the signal that while she may not have _forgotten_ what he said, she has become willing to move past it. It doesn’t mean that the others ease up on him at all, in fact over the six days that it takes them to reach the foot of the Misty Mountains they push him harder than ever.

On the seventh day, however, things change. They have only been on the road for an hour, the sun still low in the early summer sky, when Gandalf reins in his horse and halts. The younger members of the party don’t notice to start with, Adra is deep into a spirited description of the great throne room of Durin that only serves to make Fili more desirous of seeing it one day. If the look on Ori’s face is anything to go by, he feels the same way and Fili feels an odd pang of gratitude towards Bilba for all her questions about Khazad-dum. He’s been reluctant to ask, reluctant to remind Adra that he was raised so far from the stone that has protected his ancestors and that, if not for this quest, he and Thorin may never have left Bree.

“Mithrandir?” The elf’s voice startles them all into silence. Legolas has rarely spoken since they left Rivendell and he clearly feels out of place among them. Not that Fili blames him, he’s become very familiar with the sensation since leaving Bree and for a time he had the discomfort of being among his _own_ kind and still feeling isolated. At least in Rivendell Elladan and Elrohir had already decided to take him in hand. Fili has made a half-hearted attempt to be more welcoming but Thorin’s eyes are always hard when he tries, and Legolas doesn’t seem to welcome his company either. The only ones he really speaks to are Gandalf and, surprisingly, Bilba. So naturally, while Bilba is with Fili, Adra and Ori, Legolas has withdrawn to the wizard’s company. The wizard, who now stares ahead unseeing with his staff gripped tightly in one hand and his reins loose in the other. The group halts to look at the wizard, utterly still but for the breeze that ruffles his long hair and the billowing sleeves of his robes.

“We go north,” Gandalf says after a moment, “it seems our destination may well be Dol Guldur after all.” Some emotion Fili doesn’t understand flickers across Legolas’ face, but he doesn’t have time to examine it because as quickly as it comes it has gone again.

“He passed this way?” Thorin demands, his eyes and face oddly intent.

“Yes, although we are still some distance behind him and not within a day of our position. Simply close enough that I can feel the Jewel’s passing.”

“Then we need to increase our pace,” Thorin snarls. Fili isn’t sure why he expects Gandalf to disagree, but he is disappointed that, after a brief pause, the wizard does little more than nod. They nudge their mounts a little faster, urging them into a pace that does little to encourage conversation and yet doesn’t seem to make the mountains come any closer any faster. The peaks have loomed over them for days and Fili begins to wonder, as four more days pass after their slight shift in direction, whether they will ever reach the Mahal damned things.

Fili is surprised, then, when half way through that fourth day they find themselves part way up a mountain and at the mouth of a pass that seems barely wide enough for two horses to walk next to each other unburdened. Thorin glances at the sky, judging the position of the sun and then looks down the narrow pass which has already fallen into shadow. A scowl crosses his features, but then he is ordering them all to dismount and make camp.

“Should we not push on?” Legolas demands. “Since our task is of some urgency it seems foolish to waste three hours or more of sunlight.”

“The most treacherous sections of this pass are on _this_ side of the mountains,” Nori replies blandly before Thorin can growl his reply. “We’d rather not lose our ponies, or ourselves, over the edge of a ledge if we can help it.” The elf tilts his head in acknowledgement, then lets the matter drop although Fili has no idea whether it is out of graciousness or simply that he has no desire to continue the conversation.

Legolas is not the easiest of travelling companions, even for Bilba who he seems inclined to think well of. Fili isn’t even entirely sure he understands Legolas’ objections to coming with them or getting to know them. Elladan and Elrohir have proven the dwarrow and elves can get along and even have some fun together. Perhaps the twins are the exception, however, and while he knows that it is impossible to get along with everyone you meet, he still finds himself hoping Legolas might make a _little_ bit of effort, for his own sake as much as for the rest of the group. Legolas' comments, however, often make it clear that he has only ever worked with other elves and that seems to be true across all of the other races as well. Fili has noticed, since leaving Bree, that everyone very much seems to keep themselves to themselves, something he had thought unique to the Shirefolk. Bree, it would seem, is more unusual than he had imagined.

They may have stopped several hours early, but Thorin does not allow them to sit idle. All of their equipment is to be inspected, from their socks to the tents and cooking gear. Once they have crossed the mountains it will be some time until they are likely to have a chance to make such repairs again. The shoes of both horses and all of the ponies are checked more than once by various members of their party, Fili included, their weapons are cleaned and sharpened and while they train Thorin orders that it be limited and light. The next two days will be difficult, and he wants them well rested.

In the midst of it all Fili finds himself watching Bilba. He has no real idea _why_ , simply suspects that it is a habit long formed from looking out for first Kili, then Ori and finally having been ordered to watch over Bilba as they all travelled to Rivendell. He always has half an eye on her, he realises, but she is very likely to be the most vulnerable member of their company and someone has to look out for her. Technically, that job falls to Adra and her uncles, as it would have had their collection of her gone to plan (although they probably would have had a contingent of warriors with them as well). He may only have known Bilba for a few weeks longer than Adra has, however, but Fili has a far clearer idea of how she feels about this trip than his cousin does. He’s only surprised that she hasn’t tried to slip away at least once already.

His need to watch her, whatever the reason may be, means that he spots her lifting some of the dried stores and slipping them into her pack. He could, and probably should, draw his uncle’s attention to the whole thing and let Thorin deal with it. He chooses not to. His reasons aren’t really all that complicated. Firstly, he knows that if he tells Thorin his uncle will want to know why Adra didn’t spot it. Fili suspects that Adra’s instructions and Thorin’s expectations of her role don’t even come close to matching. Adra’s job is to protect _Bilba_ , her person and her innocence. This isn’t something that his people are usually concerned about, and the hobbits who live in Bree tend to be more lenient in the matter as well. There are strict protocols in the Shire, from what he remembers of Rosie Chubb’s half-drunk lecture on the subject one evening, and so Bilba must always have another female with her. Fili suspects that his uncle, and everyone else, expects there to be more to it than that. The second reason is that if Thorin decides to handle it the situation will likely end badly. Bilba is not a dwarrowdam. She has fire, certainly, but she lacks the stone-headed conviction that all dwarrow possess in large quantities. She is much easier to intimidate than any dwarf, even if she _is_ more stubborn than any hobbit Fili has ever come across.

“Don’t even consider it,” Fili breathes as he crouches near her on the pretence of examining her little sword. It’s in perfect shape, of course, but it never hurts to check.

“Consider what?” She asks, eyes wide with false innocence and Fili checks to make sure no one is looking before he flips back the flap of her pack to expose the food she has slipped in there. It is gratifying to see her flush under his gaze.

“Running,” he hisses. “The passes are safe enough usually, but uncle says that they are difficult to navigate and there are hidden Goblin doors everywhere. It didn’t go well for you last time, Bilba, and there won’t be anyone to save you if you get into trouble _this_ time.” She glares at him and for a moment Fili wonders if she will deny everything and go running to the others. Then she smiles a brittle little grin and turns away to continue packing. Fili has no idea whether she has taken in what he said or not, and he cannot quite bring himself to care either, he has said what he came to and the rest is up to her.

He is startled to catch his uncle’s eye when he looks away from the hobbit, her lips pursed in a thin line and her cheeks flushed. Thorin’s gaze is hard and he gestures firmly to Fili to approach. It makes the young dwarf tense, makes him wonder if he has, in fact, done the wrong thing by approaching Bilba himself, even if Thorin has better things to do that watch over Bilba Baggins in her stubborn refusal to do as she must.

“She was planning on running?” Thorin asks, his voice too low to hear or carry. Fili still glances uneasily at Bilba, better aware than the others that she hears almost as well as elves do. By the time they reach their seventeenth decade most dwarrow have begun to notice a loss of hearing, even among the loud voices of their own kind. Mines, forges and training rings are loud places after all.

 **She was,** he gestures. Thorin arches a brow. **She hears almost as well as the elf**. Iglishmek lacks the subtleties of both Westron and Khuzdul, which can both be used to different effect (although the language gifted to them by Mahal is sometimes the _only_ one they can use to make a point sufficiently), but the gestures will get across his meaning well enough. **She’s guarded with me, you will need to watch her closely.** Internally he flinches at the thought that he has just dared to give his uncle that which is near enough an order. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face as he meets Thorin’s eyes. Far from anger, or even a dressing down for his presumption, his uncle smiles warmly and touches his shoulder.

 **It shall be done** , he signs back. “You handled it well,” he says then. “I will speak to those in need of it.”

“What was _that_ about?” Ori asks as Thorin marches away, his face set and his hands already moving in Bifur and Bofur’s direction. He will risk the language of their hands in front of the elf but has forbidden them all from allowing Legolas to hear Khuzdul. It is an open secret that dwarrow have a language of their own as well as a way of communicating without words, enough outsiders will have come across it over the years after all. Doubtless there are even still a few elves who remember the days of peace and friendship between the two peoples who will have seen and heard it. Trying to hide it all strikes him as a little bit foolish in the grand scheme of things.

“Bilba,” Fili mumbles, coming back to the conversation.

“Ah,” Ori scratches at his cheek, leaving a smear of ink behind that would drive Dori to distraction if he were here to see it. “I had wondered how long it would take her,” he adds. “Hobbits don’t really take part in great deeds.”

“No,” Fili grumbles, “they’re more stubborn than old Cralto’s mules.” Beasts which rarely did as their _master_ ordered, let alone the thieves who so often seemed to target the old man’s wares.

“Do you blame her?” Ori asks, his normally soft hazel eyes are sharp in a way that makes Fili think of Nori. “You wouldn’t like having the choice taken from you much either,” he points out and Fili feels a twinge of regret for that drunken night in Bree when he had told Ori that one day he would leave to find his One and win them through some great and marvellous deed. Every now and then Ori will remind him of it, and, in this case, Fili can recognise his point, he definitely wouldn’t like being told he had no choice.

“Mahal would _never_ allow it to happen if they weren’t designed for one another,” Fili mutters.

“ _We_ know that, He’s _our_ Maker. She has no such reassurances,” Ori reminds him and Fili nods.

“Lads!” Bofur calls them over to the cook fire for dinner and the subject is set aside for another time, if it ever comes up again at all, and Fili resolves to keep a closer eye on Bilba. It can’t hurt to have someone else watching her, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on weekly updates at the moment. While the pen and paper side of this is progressing just fine the time to type is getting shorter and shorter as the return to school gets closer and the house move gets more complicated (because of course it would)


	19. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili remembers and things don't go as smoothly as they would like

Morning dawns bright and clear and Thorin rouses them just as the sun peers over the horizon, spreading tendrils of yellow light across the land. Fili glares at the mountains balefully, for all he has longed to see them for most of his life he had not thought to do so when so much rested on the success of the trip. Nor had he thought to do so without his brother. Kili, he thinks morosely, would have loved this no matter the reason for the journey. He would have loved the view and would likely have been awake long before Thorin had woken the rest of them. For Kili there had never been enough hours in the day to do all he wanted. Not enough time to practice his archery, not enough time to make and mend his arrows, not enough time for his _music_. Kili would play his fiddle and compose at every opportunity, would have done it all day if it would have brought in any coin. Instead he had been forced to take the path of the blacksmith as his uncle and brother had, and although he was a fair hand at it they had all known that it wasn't his passion. Fili had played as well, once, but now both of their fiddles were still in the little house in Bree gathering dust and cobwebs. Fili hasn't played since Kili was lost and his brother's fingers, always more nimble than his own, had fallen silent.

Kili would have seen this and the music would have _poured_ out of him.

All Fili can feel is apprehension.

"You're thinking about your brother," Bilba says from beside him and he startles. "You get this look on your face when you do."

He smiles at her, but it is a tight and brittle thing that doesn't reach his eyes. It can be the most surprising of things that make his grief, even after eight years, suddenly become a crushing weight rather than a vague sensation that he can ignore. For some reason _this_ is one of those times, stood at the foot of a mountain range Kili longed to see that Fili _knows_ would have had his brother composing some wonderful tune. Bilba's cool hand slips into his, just for a moment, and she squeezes in brief understanding. Perhaps, he muses, she is thinking of _her_ parents, or her mother who would have visited these mountains during her own visit to Khazad-dum. He squeezes back, mindful of her more delicate bones, and she leans into him for such a brief time he almost believes he has imagined it. Then she slips away, as though this moment of mutual, if unspoken, vulnerability has proven to be too much. Before he knows it they are all proceeding, single file, into the pass.

Their ponies are all the hardy, stocky kind that are most at home in the mountains and purchased with that in mind. They aren't quite as sure-footed as mountain goats, who Fili is told are capable of scaling all but the most shear of rockfaces, but it will be enough to keep them on the path unless something goes drastically wrong. They ride carefully, occasionally coming across sections of path where rock slides have made the way difficult for their ponies and almost impassable for Legolas and Gandalf's horses. Bofur and Bifur, who are apparently miners will clear the path when that happens with enviable speed and skill. It delays them, however, and as the day passes Fili can see his uncle growing more concerned about it.

It is made worse by the heavy clouds that block out the sun a few hours after they have paused long enough to eat a quick lunch of hard tack and dried fruit. The wind, which has been little more than a strong breeze all morning, picks up and howls around them, whipping hair into faces and snatching hoods from their heads. Dwarrow are designed to withstand extremes of temperature but the sudden drop makes Fili shudder all the same.

"We need to find shelter," he hears Balin shout as the driving rain starts, soaking almost everyone before they can pull their oilskins about them against the wind. "We cannot continue in this, the path is too treacherous."

For a moment Fili thinks that Thorin will order that they all press onwards regardless, even as his pony slips and skitters in the wet while the others stamp and toss their heads nervously. Then the sky lights up with an almost blinding flash and thunder rolls around them like a rockslide.

"Dwalin, Nori, find us some shelter," Thorin orders over the storm and the pair slide from their ponies, disappearing into the darkness on sure feet.

The rest follow at a slower pace and Fili begins to feel the odd prickle on the back of his neck that tells him he is being watched. He shifts in his saddle but by this point the rain has rendered it almost impossible to see further than Ori ahead of him and Adra behind. He puts the feeling out of his mind, unsure what he would do about it in any case. It feels like an age before Nori comes back, but Fili suspects that it cannot have been more than fifteen minutes, and he leads them to a cave that is large enough for all of them and the ponies. It takes a bit of effort to encourage the ones purchased in Bree inside, being unaccustomed to caves unlike the ones belonging to Adra and her uncles. Eventually, however, they are all inside and even though Thorin forbids the building of a fire they all change into dry clothes and huddle together for warmth.

"You checked the cave thoroughly?" Fili hears him ask Nori and Dwalin as they all disperse to their bedrolls.

"Aye," Dwalin replies. "I dislike caves this far north of Khazad-dum as much as you do. There's no goblin sign, but we'd do well to set a watch all the same. No sense in getting caught with our trousers down."

"As if _that_ would cause you any problems," Thorin snorts. "Set a watch," he orders then, all mirth gone from his voice, and Fili settles into his bed once more.

The goblins come in the night. Fili wakes to the stamping and squealing of the ponies and Dwalin's roar to arm themselves. The cave entrance is wide, too wide to prevent the goblins from streaming in and Fili quickly finds himself fending off opponent after opponent, his duel swords singing with every slash and thrust, block and parry. His muscles ache and sweat trickles down his back, but he is a dwarf and his maker created them to endure.

"Bilba!" He hears Adra shout, breaking his focus as he turns to look for their reluctant hobbit and only avoiding a goblin knife at the last second. He cannot see her, though she and Adra have obviously been separated and worry gnaws at him.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Legolas turn away from the goblins, seeming to dance out of reach of their blades and their hands, his daggers nearly black with goblin blood as he darts to the _back_ of the cave. There is no time to think on what the elf is doing, though the numbers of goblins are greatly reduced by this point, and his focus turns back to keeping himself alive. It is not the easiest of tasks, there are fewer goblins than there were at the start, but he is young, and youth doesn't always equal stamina. The remaining goblins look like they are ready to break and flee, but none of them escape. Dwalin, Nori and Thorin make sure of that and those goblins that haven't been killed by the company have been trampled by the terrified ponies. They are lucky, Fili thinks, that their mounts didn't attempt to stampede their way out of the cave during the attack.

"Are you well?" Thorin approaches him, face soft with concern under the splatters of goblin blood that mar his skin and beard.

"Yes, Uncle," Fili nods, limbs trembling now that the fight is over, and his breath is coming hard. There is a difference, after all, between sparring and fighting for your life.

His attention turns to Adra, who has hurried towards Legolas at the back of the cave. Fili hasn't forgotten her shout of concern and fears that his cousin is going towards the body of the hobbit. It makes something icy curl in his gut, and it isn't until he sees Bilba, her face noticeably pale even in the near darkness, that he feels relief settle through him and he lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He blinks and curses when someone finally manages to get a torch lit, his stone sight pierced by the light.

"You're hurt," he hears Adra say as he approaches. "I should have stayed closer." Something Fili not only agrees with but thinks of himself as well.

"You had no reason to think I wouldn't be safe hidden there," Bilba replies and her voice rasps a little as she does so. Fili sees the stark marks on her throat, bruises beginning to form made by long thin fingers, "and Legolas was quick enough."

"How did a goblin get past us?" Fili asks. "And why focus on Bilba rather than killing the rest of us?"

"I do not believe it is a goblin," Legolas replies, his face troubled as he nudges the corpse with his foot.

It's an emaciated thing, skin pale and sickly grey. Fili realises he can count every bone in his ribs, spine, hands and feet. Its head is over large, bald but for a few wisps of hair, eyes bulbous appearing and not just the wideness of death. It is the feet which catch his attention, however, they are too long, too large, even with how skeletal the rest of the body is.

"It's a hobbit!" He exclaims and Bliba startles, her gaze turning to do an inspection of her own. Then she crouches, apparently without thinking, fingers digging into the dirt next to her attacker as she stares.

"No hobbit has passed this close to the Misty Mountains since the Wandering," she mutters, eyes staring and unseeing. She flinches when Adra touches her shoulder but allows herself to be led away.

They will have to move on, Fili realises, even though they will have little more than moonlight to see by. There are now upwards of thirty goblin corpses in the cave with them, some of which are in multiple pieces. Even if they get rid of the bodies the stone is slick with black blood and the air is thick with the stench of them. The group will get no rest as long as they are here and a moment later Thorin has ordered them to gather their belongings and lead their ponies out. It will be slow going and, to Fili's irrational irritation, Bilba sticks close to Legolas. Her exhaustion is clear, and her eyes are wary, but Fili is forced to turn his attention from her in favour of keeping his eyes on the path.

They lead the ponies and walk in silence, the pace so slow as to feel almost as though they are standing still. Every time Fili wonders why they do not pick up the pace someone stumbles or something in the mountain shifts and he hears muffled curses from in front and behind. They will have to stop soon, he knows, Bilba and the ponies don't see well in the dark at all and the darkness of the sky is not the same as the deep dark under stone. Their stone sight is too sensitive, even the moonlight is a harsh glare, and so they do not see as well in the dark of night as they would under a mountain or in the light of day. At least the rain has stopped, he thinks absently as he notices the first tendrils of sunlight touching the horizon. By the time the light has begun to spread they have reached a wide point on the path, wide enough for them to stop and rest for a couple of hours before continuing on. Exhaustion claims them all quickly enough, but it isn't long before they are roused once more and moving again.

With the sun shining once more they can ride, and Fili knows he isn't the only one to be glad for it. The day is quiet, though Legolas and Gandalf seem to be holding up better than the rest of them (and isn't it _marvellous_ that wizards and elves need less sleep than the rest of them). They push on in silence, too tired to trade stories of home or the old tales that all dwarrow enjoy. Thorin wants to be out of the mountains by nightfall and even though everyone is tired no one else is averse to the idea either. Fortunately, the path is easier and even _Fili's_ exhausted mind begins to wonder whether the rock falls which had hindered them all the previous day might have been deliberate. Thorin voices something similar as they exit the pass just as the last of the sun's light vanishes and camp is set quickly, too close to the pass for real comfort but they are all too tired to go further.

Fili moves, by habit, to help Bilba from her pony and is disconcerted to find that Legolas has already done it. In fact, the elf seems to hover over the hobbit for much of the evening, even going so far as to bring her meal to her as though he doesn't trust the dwarrow to take care of her or watch for her well-being. Perhaps he is right to wonder, Fili thinks morosely, given that their _lack_ of care almost got Bilba killed only hours ago. Much as Bilba insists Adra bears no blame for it, that the creature had appeared out of nowhere, Fili also knows that his cousin is still blaming herself for what might have been. They had forgotten how utterly vulnerable Bilba is, even with her lessons, and they will need to discuss how to handle such a situation should it arise again.

He dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it comes. His uncle is the one in charge of the group, their leader, it will be down to Thorin to ensure that they have a plan going forward. Now that they have crossed over the Misty Mountains, after all, it will only get more dangerous as they get closer to their goal. It isn't a comforting thought to fall asleep to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I killed Gollum. I'm destroying canon at an ever increasing rate in this fic. It's fun, and what doesn't fit gets messed with. It's stress relieving. At least, that's the excuse I'm going to stick to for the moment. I'm trying to focus on getting as much written and typed as possible before the big move. It looks like we won't have any internet for about ten days once we're in the new place so I'm doing what I can.


	20. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin tells a story and the author buries canon under concrete

Bilba stares up at the stars as she lies wrapped in her blankets. She's exhausted, and she came too close to falling asleep in her saddle more than once, but now sleep refuses to come to her and she huffs in exasperation. She wants nothing more than to rest, knowing that they will push forward at a rapid pace now that they have found the trail of the Jewel of Durin. How Gandalf can sense it, she knows not. Likely it is some deep and unexplained magic of wizards, not that Gandalf is thought of as much of a wizard in the Shire. She isn't entirely sure, any more at least, that most of her fellow hobbits have any grasp at all of the realities of the world outside their safe home and the tireless way the other races work to protect the world her people like to pretend they are not a part of. That will have to change, she thinks, once this is all over and she goes home. They have no right to expect the elves and Men and dwarves to shoulder the burden of keeping the evils in the world entirely at bay.

Bilba has _seen_ evil since she left the Shire, and not just that of the goblins or the strange creature that attacked her while hissing about the meat on her bones and its precious. She shudders at the memory of its cold and clammy fingers around her throat and her weak attempts to fight it off. The thing took them all unawares and if not for Legolas she would have died. She will have to make her way back through those mountains, should she manage to sneak away, and she's under no illusions that any goblins she might come across would ignore her. She can admit, now, that running off on her own won't work (no matter how much she still resents Fili's assertions of the same) she's on the wrong side of the Misty Mountains.

Her thoughts turn away from the impossibility of her escape from her future as her fingers slip into her pocket, closing around the cool metal of a ring. She found it on the cave floor after the creature had tried to take her and the curiosity had prompted her to pick it up. It's heavy, for such a small thing, plain and smooth and she puts it on to admire it in the moonlight. She hasn't mentioned it to anyone, it hardly seems worth it, and she doubts the thing has any real value at all. It's such a tiny thing, she muses, and it makes her wonder _how_ she spotted it in the darkness anyway, her eyesight isn't as good in the dark as that of a dwarf.

She twists it on her finger as she thinks, amazed to find that it fits, then glances around to see if anyone else is awake. Nausea hits her as she sees the world in a wash of greys and blacks. Except where her companions are, the dwarves glow slightly in the washed-out world, but Legolas and Gandalf _shine_. She yanks the ring off her finger, staring at it in confusion as the world rights itself and the murky feeling recedes. For just that moment the world had felt wrong, foul, and it troubles her, even as she pockets the ring with the intention of talking to Gandalf about it in the morning. Then she rolls herself more tightly into her blankets and sleep finally drags her under.

She wakes early to Adra's gentle nudging and groans. Her throat hurts more than it had the day before and her head is pounding with the beginning of a headache, likely due to her own exhaustion. There is little likelihood that Thorin will ease their pace at all just because she is feeling under the weather, no matter the reason for it.

"Gruel," she hears Nori grumble as he accepts his breakfast.

"Porridge," Bombur corrects in his reasonable voice that is as soft as that if any hobbit.

"Oats and water," Nori mutters, lifting a spoonful and letting it drop, "that's gruel, and we've had it every day since leaving Rivendell."

"If you don't like it," Bofur snaps, "how about _you_ do the cooking and carry the extra supplies?" Perhaps Bilba isn't the _only_ one suffering from a lack of sleep.

"You won't thank yourself for that suggestion if you let _him_ anywhere near your cookpot," Dwalin mutters around his mouthful of breakfast. "And it's this or _weeds_ , Nori, so quit your belly aching and eat up."

The red head falls silent, though he is still pulling a face as he eats. Bilba happens to think that Bombur's cooking is better than anything Dwalin, Balin or Thorin managed to cook up before they reached Rivendell, but she doesn't say anything. Her head hurts too much for the normal conversations of dwarves, let alone for the shouted arguments they seem to enjoy so much.

"For your throat," she hears Bombur say and she looks up as a battered tin cup appears before her.

Her breakfast as been mostly ignored, swallowing is more painful than she would like to admit, and obviously the rotund dwarf had noticed. He smiles kindly at her and the bitter scent of willow bark hits the back of her throat. She accepts it gratefully, despite the fact that she would normally refuse to drink it unless a liberal amount of honey has been added and gulps it down. It doesn't take long, in her experience, for the brew to do its work and she half-heartedly continues with her breakfast as her stomach rebels slightly against the bitter tea and the pain her head. Frankly, she could use a few more hours sleep while she waits for the brew to work, but even with the tempers around her balancing on a knife edge she knows that it is unlikely.

"Gandalf," she hears Thorin say as the break camp, "the thief cannot have emerged far from here, which way?"

"He followed the path, Thorin," the wizard replies gravely, "you may be assured that should his direction change I will inform you."

"Have we caught him up at all?"

"That I cannot tell you," is the response, "there is no way to know."

Thorin mutters something under his breath that Bilba cannot quite catch and barks the order for them all to move out. It is to be another hard day, she thinks miserably. It makes her curse her own foolish stubbornness and wish she had simply accepted that which was required of her. She would still be at home and comfortable in her own bed had she not decided to try and change that fate, had she only listened to her Took relatives who had insisted that this was a fantastic opportunity instead of the Baggins side of the family ( _and_ Torluc Proudfoot, now that she thinks on it, and the longer she is away the less of a catch he is beginning to look like) who had all insisted that it was far too scandalous.

"The road is very quiet," she comments, when they slow to allow the ponies some rest. "I though we might have come across some other traveller by now."

"It's Mirkwood," Nori replies, and she flinches when she realises just how close to her he is without her noticing. "Isn't that right, Legolas."

"We prefer the Woodland Realm," the elf says stiffly, "or the Greenwood."

"But it isn't green anymore, is it?" Nori taunts. "Travellers go missing off the old dwarf road that runs through it. Going around the north of it takes them too near Gundabad on the west side and going south is too near Dol Guldur. Most take the road south from Lake Town and make for the Gap of Rohan," Nori continues. It takes longer but it's better than falling in enchanted rivers or losing a poorly maintained path and getting eaten by the infestation of Ungoliant's spawn while Thranduil cowers in his halls."

"You know nothing of it," Legolas hisses. Nori's answering smirk is bright and dangerous, like he has achieved exactly what he wished to.

"I'm well-travelled, lad," the thief grins, "you tend to be in my line of work. I know a lot of things, it's how I've lived so long. And I prefer to avoid that home of yours whenever I can. Even _I_ can see it's not healthy." He turns back to Bilba, apparently done with taunting Legolas. "The fact of it is, lass, there's always a choice and a risk. In this case it's the quicker route and almost certain death, or the slower route and almost certain survival with the added bonus of making some money. It can't be too hard to guess what most would choose."

"I guess not," she mutters.

She's never really thought about it. The Tooks are wealthy, they own a lot of land and make money from their own extensive farms and as landlords. The Bagginses, or Bilba's branch at least, are also wealthy. Her father inherited much of her grandfather's land and holdings and that all passed down to her. Much of it is currently overseen by her uncle, and there has been talk of her marrying his son so that he can keep that control, but Bilba has been taught what she needs to know and has helped often enough. Hobbits are _not_ traders, not like dwarves and Men, these are factors they rarely have to take into account.

The land on this side of the mountains is much the same as it was on the other, although they haven't fully cleared the pass yet it's wider and lacks the sharp drop on one side so that the group can move with more ease. Bilba shudders with the memory of her pony stumbling the previous day and that momentary certainty that she was going to die. She had been lucky and her mount had righted herself quickly, but she wonders just how many broken bodies were at the bottom of that drop which would never be recovered.

"Thorin tells that story much better than I do," she hears Ori say to Fili up ahead. "And Adra must have heard it dozens of times, since she _lives_ there." He doesn't speak to the girl directly, even though she's riding with them, but Bilba has noticed that he rarely does unless something draws him in.

Nearly every day while they ride a story gets told, usually by Ori or Balin (and occasionally Bofur, but his tend towards risqué). For the most part Bilba is fascinated and enjoys comparing these stories with the ones that her mother had told her. There are tales of the colonisation of Erebor after the last Great Alliance when it was realised that the allies needed a stronghold in the north, the discovery of the Iron Hills and the coming of Smaug. Stories of the various incarnations of Durin and the great battles his people have fought. It is spectacular and vibrant and completely unlike the hobbit tales she's accustomed to.

"Durin and the Balrog?" Thorin asks, and Bilba's attention sparks. _This_ is a story she wants to hear. "Perhaps it is time I told the truth of it," he mutters, and everyone gathers closer, even Legolas.

"As all know, Khazad-dûm has long been the greatest kingdom of all Mahal's children," Thorin's voice is low and has taken on a tone that Bilba has never heard before. "A bustling and wealthy realm beneath the mountains, no mere _mine_ as others would have the world believe, but a citadel beneath the stone where dwarrow have long been able to pursue their craft in peace and plenty.

"Khazad-dûm long withstood the attempts of our enemies to wrest control from the line of Durin, even though so many ancient homes have been lost to us, for her defences are strong and nigh impenetrable. We could not be driven from our home by any outside force and were it not for a seam of mithril we might never have been driven out at all.

"The _elves_ like to say that we dug too deeply and with too much greed, for though Durin has ever been the greatest of us his line will always be more susceptible to the call and lure of the riches of the world. And so it was that a vast seam of the purest mithril was found. Richer than any we had ever discovered before and it called to Durin, though whether to the weakness in his blood or the need instilled in all dwarrow by Mahal not even those of us who were there could say. For did not Mahal create us to follow in His path? Did He not make us to craft as He crafts? To forge as He forges? To build as He built? So we delved deep, reaching as He taught us to reach for that perfect metal, the flawless jewel, to create works of wealth and beauty such as the pale children of Eru could not understand."

His words are passionate and Bilba rather suspects that they have absolutely nothing to do with the original tale except, perhaps, as justification for the action taken by Durin VI. Even _she_ is moved by it, however, and the dwarves, including Balin, are even more so. This is a story designed to awaken the pride of all dwarves and Bilba cannot imagine it failing. Legolas, when she glances at him, simply looks alternately perplexed and angry as Thorin speaks, she doubts he has ever heard the story told, whether in this manner or at all.

"The first hint that something terrible awaited us at the end of that seam of ore was the emptiness, an echo beneath the stone where there should not have been one for no dwarrow had ever gone so deep before, and none will again knowing what might be disturbed by it. Nor was there the hint of water, a river of the purest water that might have carved out such a space in its passage. The second was the disappearance of one of the mining teams. By this time, however, Durin was consumed by his mithril and gold and blind to the advice and pleas of his sons and grandsons, even the words of his nephews and cousins in Erebor who had noticed orcs heading south in ever greater numbers went unheard.

"'Let them come,' Durin roared,' for Khazad-dûm will withstand all onslaught as proud and mighty as its king!'

"And his sons wept for the kind father they had known was no more as he ordered them to prepare their arms to intercept the orcs and add more workers to the mines that they might be worked day and night. The Balrog woke as the workers took their noon meal, their hot pasties in their hands and their mouths full of meat and ale. They died in an instant as the creature of darkness and flame ignited, wielding a blazing sword and a whip of midnight it slaughtered its way through the mine, collapsing tunnels as it went.

"There was little choice, this threat would not be easily defeated and even through the veils of his sickness Durin could understand that. So, he ordered the great city to be evacuated, that only a small contingent of his best guard and sons remain so that they might deal with the servant of Morgoth which stalked his great halls.

"His guards fell first, batted away as little more than flies buzzing around fruit and perhaps Durin had expected it for though he mourned their sacrifice he did not despair it. He drew his great sword, which had, until now, remained sheathed upon his back in favour of his axe, and the white jewel upon the pommel blazed into life at the touch of his hand upon the hilt. Brighter than even the sun it burned and Morgoth's creature screamed at the sight of it. The battle that followed raged for two days. Back and forth they moved, the creature more than ten times the size of the dwarf king aided by his two sons. Pillars crumbled, sparks flew, Nain was removed from the fight with a shattered arm, his sword lost to the darkness. The younger son was more fortunate, ignored as his attacks were little more than the harmless sparks that fly under the blacksmith's hammer.

"As we all know, Mahal made us to endure, to become the very stone from which the seven fathers were carved, but even stone will break under the right pressure and so the Balrog came to bear on Durin. It struck the mighty sword from his hand and, raising its blade over the great king's prone form, the beast let out a roar of triumph. Its victory seemed certain, but it was short lived for in the moment the blade fell the younger son jumped before his father, a shield in his hands, and turned the blow aside enough that it would not be instantly fatal to his beloved father. It was enough, for in that moment Durin was able to grasp his blade and as the son was flung aside he called upon the power of the white jewel and plunged the sword into the Balrog's chest, filling the hall with blinding light."

Thorin pauses, his voice has taken on a tight quality that Bilba recognises all too well. Grief. Even she feels it, for this is _not_ the tale her mother told her, where the son remained on the edges of the battle, ordered to take Durin's place should he fall. The others are holding their breath, she's amazed to find that she is as well, and from the awe on their faces this is not the way that the tale is told among the masses. This is the tale as it is spoken among lords and kings.

"The battle was won, but the cost was great. Durin's injuries, though few were visible, were severe and he knew he would not survive the journey out of the great city. Nain, too, had been badly injured, his sword arm useless at his side and his eyes unseeing from a blow to the head. Only the younger son, who had come so eagerly to his father's defence, who had risked his death in a futile attempt to prevent that of his father, could stand or walk. So it was, with his last breath, Durin ordered his son, his shield, to take the sword to his grandson, that Durin's line might continue and prevail in the face of darkness

"And so, the second son emerged from Khazad-dûm, triumphant and grieving, only to find greater tragedy awaited him. Tragedy which would work to prevent the return of Durin's people for many a decade and would leave the throne empty."

There is silence, Thorin's voice falls on a whisper and Bilba shivers as she releases the breath she has been holding. She has heard the others telling stories, though so many of them _must_ be known to the dwarves as part of their history, but for all her fascination none of them have ever affected her as this one has. None of them has ever made her want to know so much more than she does. Thorin speaks as though he was there, and it should be impossible, but she knows it as she looks upon his bowed head and thinks on his ancient eyes. Thorin is Durin's second son. He was there for the slaying of the Balrog.

Bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this story is nothing like what actually happened. Canon was inconvenient. Canon has been inconvenient for most of this fic in all honesty. So this is me, ignoring it entirely. I like ignoring canon. Besides, magic doohicky always allows for daring do that shouldn't otherwise be possible.


	21. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili muses on Thorin and indulges in some wishful thinking

Fili has heard Thorin tell the story of the defeat of Durin's Bane any number of times. He has never heard him tell it quite like _that_. That retelling is the kind that would rouse an army of dwarrow to seek a glorious victory. It is one that calls to that deep pride within him as one of Mahal's children, created in defiance of His Father's plan (the elves say it was impatience and that is why dwarrow are so deeply flawed, Fili thinks that they have ignored too much of their _own_ flawed history to pass any judgement). It is a sad tale, and it ends in more tragedy than just that which Thorin had related, but this is true of so many of their stories. They have their love stories, nothing quite like Beren and Luthien, but those are few and far between and usually take place around some great battle or the forging of some spectacular treasure. Those stories rarely stir the blood like these ones do, the histories of their greatest battles, and often as not they also end in misery anyway.

He draws himself from his thoughts to look at Bilba. He almost expects her to look scornful of it all, though she never has before, but she looks as swept away by it all as the rest of them. Her eyes are bright, excited and curious when she meets his gaze, but sad as well and Fili doesn't blame her. He knows what happened next, he knows that the second son escaped Khazad-dûm, narrowly avoided the orcs which had somehow known to come and take advantage of their flight and arrived to find his entire remaining family slaughtered by Blacklocks. His One and daughter, his brother's wife and their four sons dead at the hands of their own kind.

 _-Five-_ some part of his mind whispers - _Some stories say that Nain had five sons-_

He pushes it aside in favour of another thought, the inaccuracies of legends can wait, after all, and they are more Ori's thing than his. Thorin did not mention the name of the second son, and so may of the retellings ignore the existence of him at all, but Thorin didn't _have_ to mention it. Fili recognises the way his uncle kept careful control of his voice, the well concealed flicker of grief on his face when Fili could catch a glimpse of it because Fili has seen it in the mirror and saw it on Thorin's face after Kili was taken from them. Thorin _is_ the second son of Durin VI and from the look on Bilba's face and the small noise she makes, she has come to that same conclusion. Ori is looking at Thorin with awe, but if Fili knows his friend at all he can be certain that as soon as he comes to terms with the revelation, he will be pestering Thorin with endless questions. A lot of knowledge was lost in the two centuries that Khazad-dûm was in the hands of the orcs (though thankfully they never managed to gain a strong foothold in that time), and even more was lost when Smaug claimed Erebor. Thorin will know much of it, Fili thinks.

He cannot see the others, though he is reasonably certain that Dwalin, Balin and Nori already knew. Truthfully, he doubts that there is much Nori doesn't know, but Legolas is close to Bilba and he looks _smug_ as he watches Ori's expression. He _knew_ , he had to, Fili realises. More than likely every elf at least knows _of_ Thorin, who faced a Balrog and lived to tell the tale, and it is likely that Legolas has encountered Thorin any number of times over the centuries through Thranduil. Legolas may not _like_ being with them, and he's certainly snide enough with the rest of them, but he has never shown Thorin any disrespect.

Frankly, if Thorin's story hadn't confirmed what Fili had already suspected he would look as stunned as his friend. He feels a little guilty, actually, for how much he has neglected Ori for the last few weeks. They still talk, they still mess around when and if they can, but it's not the same. For nearly a decade it has been Ori, Fili and Gimli, before that they had Kili as well, with Fili and his brother as the bridge between Ori and Gimli. Fili is still close to Gimli, but he is closer to Ori these days, Gimli's fire reminds him too much of Kili's spirit sometimes and there have been occasions when that has made it difficult to be near the younger dwarf. Ori knows most of Fili's secrets. Without Kili Ori has become the one Fili goes to when he is struggling to work his way through something or has fallen out with his uncle. This quest has robbed him of that somewhat. There's little opportunity on the road for truly private conversation and so Fili hasn't had the chance to talk through any of this with his friend.

It isn't something he wants to do in front of Adra. He hasn't even mentioned Kili to his cousin yet. He knows that he will have to eventually. It was so simple to do with Bilba, she already knew about Kili to a degree because of Dwalin's stories and she was a stranger and clearly understood the pain of losing kin. Adra has a right to know about the cousin she will never meet and it's another thing, aside from Thorin, that Fili has wanted to discuss with his oldest friend. Perhaps now would be the best time, while the road ahead is clear, and they could drop back a little way so that he can finally get his friend's opinion.

When he moves to try and catch Ori's attention, however, his friend is riding next to Bilba and talking to her quietly. It makes something in Fili twist, to see the way that Bilba listens to him and how easily he talks to her. He's more comfortable with Bilba than he is with Adra, Fili knows, but that has always been the way with Ori. He has ever been shy of new people, especially females of any race. With Adra, however, it seems different. Fili has never seen Ori quite _so_ reluctant to talk to a 'dam. It might take Ori a few meetings, but he always gets there eventually. They have been on the road with Adra for nearly two weeks and Ori _still_ stammers and flushes and avoids conversation with her at every turn. Even Bilba is slowly warming up to Adra, not that Fili understands why she took _such_ a dislike to his cousin in the first place, but _Ori_ -

" _You_ ask her," he hears Bilba hiss. "You'll have to talk to her eventually.

Ori mumbles something and it occurs to Fili that as often as the four of them ride together it is usually Bilba asking the questions (or Fili, he can admit to being curious as well) and Adra answering her queries. Ori _will_ talk, but only when distracted by a topic he feels strongly on or when Adra is elsewhere. The two of them have had some spectacular debates until Ori realises he is arguing with the dwarrowdam and falls over his own tongue. Which is what he is doing _now_ , stumbling over asking Adra whatever question Bilba has refused to and it is enough to make Fili wince in sympathy.

"This is almost painful to watch," Legolas murmurs to him and Fili stares at him in surprise. He looks back over his shoulder and sees the utter bafflement on his cousin's face. "Will you not help him?"

"I think I've spent too much time helping him," he mutters in reply. "Ori isn't good with people," he elaborates when Legolas raises an eyebrow.

"I had noticed," he responds.

"You wouldn't be either if you had Dori for an older brother."

"Nori seems to have managed," the elf gestures to where Nori and Bofur are laughing over some lewd tale or another.

"From what I've been told Nori takes after his father," Fili shrugs. "Besides, Ori needs the practice, who knows where we'll be once this is all done. One day he'll meet his One and-" he trails off as a thought occurs to him and he smiles widely. It would be absolutely perfect, after all, though Ori would have to wait another three years before he can declare himself fully. Does Ori even _realise_?

He spends the next few days watching his friend and cousin.

Dwarrow, typically, don't know the identity of their One before they both come of age, though some experimentation is expected. They court, of course, because there is no sense at all in binding your future with someone when you know little to nothing about them. It happens, naturally, and there are those who just _know_ long before any courting has taken place. As he watches Fili begins to wonder if Ori is one of those lucky few, or if he is simply besotted enough to either suspect or _hope_ and that regardless of whether he knows or not his friend has absolutely no idea what to do with this infatuation at all. If not for how closely he has been watching them over the last few days Fili doubts he would have noticed at all. He would have just assumed that Ori was being his usual shy self and left him to settle on his own. It usually works, Ori forgets _why_ he is made nervous by whoever it is and whatever the reason behind it and just carries on. He doesn't seem to be able to do that with Adra.

"She thinks I'm an idiot," Ori drops onto the ground next to him one evening, fingers twiddling with yet another loose thread on his gloves. Fili will be amazed if this pair survive the trip.

"She doesn't," Fili assures him. Adra is puzzled by Ori, she has said as much, but she doesn't think he is stupid. "But it would help if you actually spoke to her."

"That's what Bilba keeps saying," Ori sighs and turns to look at the treeline, they have drawn close enough to Mirkwood that they will be turning south in the morning, though Gandalf has seemed withdrawn and confused over the last few hours.

"Well we can't _both_ be wrong," Fili laughs.

"Actually, you could be," Ori points out. "Like that time that you and Kili-"

A howl splits the air, and everyone falls silent. They've set up camp slightly earlier tonight at Gandalf's insistence, not that Fili understands why, and having Mirkwood at his back makes Fili feel vaguely trapped, even with the open ground all around them. Especially when the first howl is met with another and Fili's breath freezes because he knows that sound, even though he has only heard it once before. A warg.

"Into the trees!" Thorin orders and they scramble to obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matchmaker Fili, this can only end well. 
> 
> House move is getting closer. I'm getting gradually more stressed. This rarely ends well.


	22. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company faces an old enemy and Fili learns about his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what my random piece yesterday kicked loose.

A small hand slips into Fili's as soon as they reach the treeline and it can only be Bilba's. He grips it tightly, eyes on his uncle as they duck under branches. This is a bad idea. The others have all shared stories about Mirkwood, even Legolas has admitted that his home is not safe for outsiders if they stray off the path. He looks to his side to see how Bilba is doing and almost trips over his own feet when he realises that he can _feel_ her, but he cannot _see_ her.

"Bilba," he hisses, dragging her behind a tree. "I can't see you. How are you _doing_ this?"

"Does it matter?" She demands, and it is jarring to hear her disembodied voice. "We're being chased by orcs."

"I can't protect you if I can't see you," he points out.

"I won't need protecting if they can't see me," she replies. "And protecting me isn't your job."

"I'm the only one here," he snaps, realising that he has lost sight of Thorin and the others. "I won't risk it." There is a pause and her hand slips from his. For a horrible moment he thinks she has slipped away, then she pops into existence in front of him.

"We don't have time for this," she tells him, slipping something into her pocket, "we have to find the others."

He can agree with that and he reaches for her hand without a thought. She grips his tightly, and he notices that they aren't as far into the trees as he would like since they can still see the last remnants of daylight through the trunks that press so tightly behind them. He knows that there are orcs and wargs out there and he has no idea how far in the others have come. Hiding in the trees won't do them much good, ultimately, they left all of their belongings at their campsite, and eventually the wargs will smell them and follow them all in.

"Get down," Bilba tugs his hand and they duck behind a bush to watch as a large warg prowls past, large enough to be seen even from their position.

"Oakenshield!" A voice bellows. Fili cannot understand the words that follow, but they _sound_ like a challenge or a threat.

If they were in Bree, if Thorin were still Thor, he might resist the urge to rise to it. In Bree, Fili now knows, Thorin hadn't wanted to be found. This isn't Bree, he isn't Thor, he is Thorin and everyone here knows it. Bilba tugs on his hand and points, Fili looks away from the pacing warg to see Adra, Dwalin and Ori creeping closer to the treeline.

 **Stay back with her** , Dwalin signs. **Keep out of sight**. He nods, only to feel Bilba slip from his grasp and he hisses as he moves after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her tight against him as he ducks behind a tree to avoid being seen.

"Stay with me," he hisses, lips so close to her ear that they brush over it and she shudders.

He knows she heard him because she turns so that she can glare up at him with furious eyes. He meets the scowl with one of his own, heart racing in his chest because he knows what the others are planning on doing while he stays in the trees with her. The others are going to attack the orcs and as much as he wants to join them, he is well aware that he cannot. Someone has to stay with Bilba and make sure that she is safe. They have made the mistake of thinking that leaving her to hide on her own is a good idea once, and he refuses to make the same mistake again.

"We can still get closer," she breathes as the others charge forwards with screamed war cries. "In case they need help."

 _Or so that we can see if it ends badly enough that we need to escape_ , he adds mentally.

They creep forward slowly. This isn't a large pack, hardly more than a scouting party of a dozen warg mounted orcs. The orcs are distracted by the rest of the party in any case, and Fili doubts they will notice he and Bilba hidden in the treeline. There's a large white orc that catches Fili's attention, the same one that had been shouting and challenging his uncle. Metal plates seem to sprout from its skin and one arm has been replaced with a cruel steel prosthesis. Something in Fili's mind shifts, prickles at his consciousness and he can't help but think that if he stares at this creature for long enough the answers might come to him. Then one of the other orcs gets too close to the trees and he has to quickly silence it before it can draw attention to the pair of them hidden in the bushes.

"Thorin!" He hears Dwalin roar and he turns to see his uncle hemmed in by wargs with the large orc advancing on him.

"Go," Bilba insists, "go. I'll stay out of sight." She vanishes in front of his eyes and Fili curses creatively as he hesitates only long enough to kill another rider less warg before it can sniff her out. Then he rushes to his uncle's side.

This would be easier if they only had to worry about the orcs.

An arrow sprouts from the white orc's arm, followed rapidly by three more to its torso and one which it brushes out of the air impatiently. Fili focuses on one of the wargs, his heart in his throat as he thinks of his uncle facing the thing that is easily three times his size, while Balin and Bofur handle the other two. Their aid has allowed Thorin to focus on the white orc, and by some blessing of Mahal his uncle has manage to take it down by cutting off the prosthesis and one of its legs above the knee. That doesn't seem to have deterred it all that much, its laugh is dark, cruel, as it shouts out some threat or demand that Fili has no wish to understand. He focuses, instead, on watching for other foes even though the others seem to have things well enough in hand that he can see Bilba beginning to venture from the trees.

"It should be you, Fili," Thorin says, stepping back though he watches the orc warily. Fili has no idea how the foul thing is even still conscious. "For your parents. Azog killed your mother and father, would have murdered you and Kili had I not prevented it. The killing blow should be yours."

He doesn't know what happened the night that his parents were killed. Thorin has never told him, never explained much of anything, and Fili has never had the desire to ask. It had always been enough to know that his parents were dead. He has no idea why this orc, _Azog_ , would target his family, though the name of the creature is familiar from the stories. He finds, in this moment, that he doesn't particularly care as red descends over his vision. This orc is the reason he is an orphan, this orc is why he will never know his parents. This orc is the reason they moved to Bree in the first place and so is the reason that Kili was there during that winter when other orcs attacked. _This_ orc is the reason Fili doesn't have anyone left. He doesn't have to think about it, he just plunges one of his blades into the things chest where its heart would be, should it have one, putting all of his strength behind the blow before twisting.

The orc's sneer slides off its face and its eyes go dull, utterly lifeless as it falls backwards, dragging Fili's sword from his suddenly numb fingers. He doesn't hear anything, doesn't feel Thorin clap him on the shoulder or the satisfied words that follow. He doesn't hear the orders for them to find somewhere to make a new camp and tend their injuries. He simply staggers along with them, the ponies lost in the chaos, and he stays unseeing and unhearing until they make camp a short while later and he feels cool water on his hands. He comes back to himself with a jerk, only to see Bilba looking at him in concern clutching a cloth as she wipes orc blood from his hands and face, fussing over him in that peculiar little way she has when she doesn't have any reason to fight with him or argue over something.

"You told me they were dead," he mumbles when he realises that Thorin is next to him, thick bandages around his bare torso and he should ask what happened, but his mind is on other things.

"I did."

"You didn't tell me it was orcs," Fili accuses.

"I didn't. you had reason enough to hate them," Thorin sighs. "I feared what you might become if you knew all."

"He killed my parents," he whispers, still staring at his hands. They're clean, now, and Bilba has done a good job of it for all his skin still itches and his muscles ache. "Didn't I have a right to know it? To know how? Or why?"

"I do not _know_ why," Thorin says stiffly, "I never worked out if Azog had been searching for me and found them, or if he had been looking for them regardless of my presence."

"Why would he?" Fili demands. "What could my family have possibly been to him?"

"We are straying very close to those things I cannot tell you, lad," Thorin mutters. "It could have been as simple as Azog desiring a way to draw me out. I always believed his motivations for that were clear enough, I _was_ the one who took his arm," a story Fili knows all too well. " _I_ was the one who led the final charge which drove the orc filth from Khazad-dûm. It was a simple assumption, there was no ither reason he _should_ have known about, but with all that has happened over the last decade I do begin to wonder."

"Uncle," Fili cuts in. "Tell me what happened, _please_." He's not even sure _why_ he wants to know so badly, just feels that he _has_ to. He's dreamt of it off and on since he was young, though less as he got older. Dreams of fire and fear and a foul laugh. Until today he had brushed it off as a child's fear. Now he wonders if it was always an almost forgotten memory because he could not have imagined that laugh of _that_ orc so clearly.

"Kili would have been eight, maybe nine months old," Thorin says softly. The others, Fili notes, have all moved away, though he can feel Bilba's concerned gaze from where she sits out of earshot. "Your mother's carrying had been difficult, her birthing even more so, and we had less money saved than we would have liked for winter. We were in a remote village near Ered Luin, not an affluent place but a friendly enough one and I felt safe leaving you and your family alone. I foolishly believed that none would look for us there, too far removed from the world to be of any real interest. Your parents paid for that error.

"I have no idea how he tracked us down," Thorin looks at his hands as Fili's gaze turns back on him. His uncle's bandages are a stark white in the firelight and even now Fili can see the scars that litter a chest coated with thick hair. In this moment he looks more like Thor the blacksmith and less like Thorin, son of Durin, than he has since this journey started. It's oddly comforting and a sign that not everything about their time in Bree had been an act. "I returned early, by chance I had heard of an orc pack in the area while in a small Mannish town and it made me fear, correctly it seems, that we had been discovered, or soon would be. When I arrived, the village was in flames. Our friends and neighbours were dead, though they had taken most of the orcs with them and the few that remained were quickly dispatched. I feel no shame in admitting my terror, madtubirzul, as I hurried to our home. In truth I feared the worst. The house was already burning when I reached it, and your mother," he pauses and takes a deep breath. It makes Fili realise _why_ Thorin has never truly spoken of her. His grief is as raw now as it was then. "Your mother had already fallen, curled around your brother, shielding him from Azog's notice and the flames that consumed the building even as she lay dying. You were also near your mother, but it was your father I saw first as he desperately tried to keep Azog from you. He told me to take you both and protect you with my life. Had he not asked it then I suspect we would _all_ have died that day. Your father was never the most gifted of warriors, but that day he was greater than even the best of us."

"You left him to die," Fili breathes, ignoring the tears he can feel on his cheeks.

"I followed his wishes. I _wanted_ to stay, just as I wanted to track Azog down and carve your parent's lives from his flesh, but with both of them dead you had no one else to care for you and the journey to Khazad-dûm was too long for such young dwarflings. Even the journey to Bree was longer than I really wished to attempt. More than once I feared either you or Kili would perish before we got there. I would have spared you all of this, if I could. I would have died a thousand times if I thought it would keep Vili and Dis safe to raise you. If you believe nothing else, believe that."

Fili thought he had cried his tears for his parents long ago. He had never truly known them and how can he mourn that which he does not know? Except there is some memory, locked away by a terrified child, of fire and a cruel laugh and a pained scream. A voice shouting, or begging, and so much fear. It's jumbled, he couldn't say what is real and what is the result of childish nightmares, but there is a truth there and he had a little over five years with his parents. Whether he has forgotten as a result of his age or deliberately locked it away he knows not and cares even less. There is grief, fresh and yet so old, and he leans into his uncle who welcomes him into a familiar embrace. For just tonight Fili doesn't care that this is weakness or what the others might think of it. For just tonight he allows himself to be overwhelmed by it all and Thorin, by some miracle, understands. Fili only hopes that somewhere in Mahal's halls his parents know that he has avenged them and are proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a child free weekend coming up, which ironically means less writing time because this means I'll actually be able to do things with the Man Beast that we don't tend to do with the kids around, like go to the places they find boring (minds out the gutter folks). Still, my mind is full of ideas, not all for this one, and so who knows what might turn up over the next couple of weeks.


	23. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilba lives in denial.

Bilba fingers the ring in her pocket as she watches Fili and Thorin. She had excused herself as soon as it became clear that the older dwarf had wanted to talk to his nephew, but that didn't mean that she _wanted_ to. Fili has been out of it since the orcs and this discussion doesn't seem like it would be easy on him if he were entirely present, let alone when he's obviously overwhelmed.

"You like him," Adra says as she sits next to Bilba. "My cousin, you like him."

"He's been kind to me," Bilba shrugs, "and he's my friend."

"I've seen that look," Adra replies. "I've seen it on friends who- Those friends are all getting married in the next few years."

"I don't look at him like that," Bilba hisses. She knows very well what kind of expression Adra is referring to because she's seen it on cousins and friends often enough over the last few years. "I _can't_ look at him like that." Almost against her will her eyes are drawn back to Fili who is resting against his uncle.

"Why not?" Adra demands.

"Because I'm a Baggins," she mutters vehemently. "Because while my grandfather would be perfectly happy for me to marry whoever I wanted, he's a Took and Tooks are more understanding of that sort thing than other hobbits. My inheritance, however, is under the control of an uncle on the Baggins side of the family. He would use it as an excuse to declare me unfit and take it all from me. _If_ I felt that way."

Adra shales her head with a grin and Bilba's fingers tighten around the ring in her pocket. She discovered what it could do completely accidentally, by slipping it on while sat quietly on her own and watching as the rest of the camp moved around her without apparently noticing her. She had written off the first time as nothing, but after the second and third she had begun to wonder if she might have found something special, something magical. It wasn't until they had been running from the orcs that Fili had confirmed it for her. Were they closer to the mountains she might have decided to take advantage of this new development and leave. She still doesn't actually _want_ to go to Moria, but her reasons for that seem to have changed without her really noticing or meaning them to.

So long as she doesn't _admit_ that reason, even to herself, she might get through this unscathed and with her heart in one piece.

Regardless of her reasons, she won't be marrying Torluc Proudfoot when she gets back to the Shire. She can't remember the last time she thought about him, in all honesty. The dwarves treat her differently, more respectfully, than most other hobbit lads her age ever have, and that includes Torluc. She stands to inherit a large smial, a significant amount of land and a substantial fortune when she comes of age and all of them know it. She has been the target of fortune hunters since her mid tweens, all of them trying to convince her that she was to be the love of their life and they would be happy together because she has enough to keep them in great comfort. Torluc was the only one who had never mentioned her wealth, but he had pushed, wrangled and whispered for other things. With him it had always been just one kiss, just ten minutes in a room alone when she knew that she shouldn't, just a touch or just one more dance when she just wanted to sit and catch her breath. There was none of the careful treatment of the dwarves, who treat Adra the same way. Bilba felt safer among the all male company _before_ Rivendell than she had in the Shire since her parents died. None of them, she knew, would try to push her into something she didn't want. Not even the young ones

Even with Torluc she had always been wary.

He is the most popular hobbit lad in the Shire. Every maid there has been known to swoon over him once or twice. Bilba had never stopped to wonder why he had chosen _her_. She's had time to think on it now, had been thinking about it even before they encountered the trolls and that odd little interlude with Fili. Fili had seemed so concerned when she mentioned the other hobbit to him, Adra was as well the first time it came up, and the more Bilba thinks now, the more she wonders whether she might have been a fool. Torluc Proudfoot always told her that she was the one for him, but he had vanished so many times during parties. There had been that rumour that Daisy Grubb had fallen with child and claimed it was his, an accusation that he had denied but Bilba has heard enough stories about how that one little kiss can be taken too far. How many times had he used that phrase ' _it's just a little kiss, Bilba love, just one little kiss, what can it hurt'_? Besides, she's come to realise that her feelings for him are not what she had thought, she left without a word to him after all and hardly thinks about him at all now. She misses _home_ , but she doesn't miss _him_. That doesn't mean she has developed tender feelings for Fili. Fili is her _friend_ , no matter what nonsense Adra has gotten into her head, and that is _all_ Fili can be.

It would be ridiculous for her to have fallen for him. He's a _dwarf_ , she's a _Baggins_ and Bagginses don't go and – She's not actually all that good of a Baggins. Bagginses don't leave the Shire, but here she is. Bagginses don't fight or carry weapons and yet there is a sword she only partially knows how to wield belted at her hip. Bagginses don't fall for any but the most _proper_ of hobbits, but her mother was a Took and Tooks have been known to have odd tastes.

Her eyes, she realises, are still on Fili and he looks so young and heartbroken in his uncle's arms that she is seized by the urge to go to him and wrap him in her arms so that she can chase the hurt away herself.

"Bilba," Adra's voice startles her, "you can ignore me if you want, I should have held my tongue. It isn't any of my business."

" _No_ ," she says it a little bit louder than she intends to and feels several pairs of eyes turn on her, "no, I- it isn't that – I'm just – I can't think on it right now," she admits. "There's too much else happening and there's the trip and the ceremony and it's too confusing. I don't know what I feel about _myself_ , let alone anyone else." She watches Thorin run his fingers through Fili's hair, watches her friend settle and as much as she _wants_ to know what has been discussed she would rather not see that expression on Fili's face again. She has a horrible feeling, however, that this will not be the last time some secret part of his past is revealed, and it will hurt him. It will keep on hurting him because Thorin is keeping so many secrets that Bilba cannot, for the life of her, understand the necessity of, especially when this is the result of uncovering one of them.

She sighs, turning away from the understanding on Adra's face that is a little bit too like pity for Bilba's tastes, and curls up in her bedroll. She resolutely turns her thoughts away from Fili and her mind flits to what passed for her dinner instead. With the destruction of their camp by the orcs and the loss of most of their ponies, they have been lucky with the amount they have been able to salvage. Most of their food and water and the majority of their bedrolls (though a couple are muddier than they would like at least they are warm) are safe, Bifur managed to grab the pack pony carrying their food supplies when they dashed into the trees and tied it just inside the treeline. The dinner Bomber had been cooking had been ruined, and the pot bent quite spectacularly, and so dinner had consisted of cram and dried beef, a meal that was filling simply by virtue of the fact that it takes so long to chew it and so much water to ease the dry biscuit down when swallowing. She longs for proper food, for a meat pie with rich gravy, fish on a bed of spring greens, mushrooms stuffed with the finest blue cheese, fresh white bread and butter or a sweet preserve, cakes and tarts. She forces herself to focus on that as she drifts to sleep rather than the remembered warmth of Fili's hand in hers. She thinks on the dream of having a truly full belly rather than wrapping her arms around her friend and enjoying his warmth while offering him the comfort he so obviously needs. He has Thorin, even Ori and Adra have kept their distance and one is Fili's oldest friend and the other his kin.

Adra still watches her with a knowing smirk the following morning and Bilba wonders what her restless sleep has betrayed. Fili is still withdrawn, though he reacts when they speak to him which is an improvement on the night before, and in truth they are all of bleak humour. It is not just the fraught emotions of the previous night that have affected them, though they are all concerned about Fili, the fact of it is that the loss of the ponies has also damped spirits. They should have enough supplies to complete their journey, provided the dwarves and Legolas hunt and Bilba forages what she can, but it will take longer now that they are on foot. Thorin is annoyed, but Bilba doesn't think he's all that surprised, especially when he begins to mutter about war rams being better suited to this side of the Misty Mountains.

Their pace is hard, they will have to keep it so that they don't lose too much of the ground they have gained on the White Wizard, but Bilba finds that she prefers walking to riding anyway. Even though they ride in groups more often than not, it's somehow easier to talk with her friends when they walk clumped together like this. Which they do. Bilba, Ori and Adra spend the morning and much of the afternoon clustered around Fili. They hardly speak for much of that time, Bilba and Adra walk with their hands in Fili's and Ori follows. None of them are really certain what to say or do, not even Ori who has surely seen Fili grieving before.

"I didn't know what to say after Kili either," Ori admits softly while they are taking a brief break. That catches Adra's attention immediately and her questions once again reduce Ori to a stuttering mess.

He really needs to learn to speak to her, Bilba thinks, he isn't going to get anywhere with her if he can't talk to her.

Finally, as the afternoon begins to turn to evening and talk of finding a suitable place to make camp starts up, Fili seems to come back to himself. He isn't as lively as usual, but he starts to take part in the conversation. He falters now and then, and likely will for a few days yet. When he does Bilba will squeeze his hand, Adra will press herself against his side and Ori clasp his shoulder in silent support. Thorin watches them, turning to look over his shoulder in spite of their pace as often as he can. He doesn't join them, doesn't approach so much as welcomes Fili to his side with a look and a gesture when they stop for the night and the younger dwarf goes to him willing, withdrawing from his friends to spend the night once more curled at his uncle's side.

The loss of family is a grief that Bilba can understand. She knows that Fili must have been very young when it happened and she doubts that he has ever grieved for them at all, though he has dealt the killing blow against the one who took them from him. He is quiet in his grief, although that's as likely to be due to the fact that it is an old grief that is being allowed to heal as it is to be his natural response to it. Bilba's grief had been loud, she had wailed and screamed for weeks, pushing away anyone to tried to offer her any form of comfort. Had Gandalf not taken her to live in the Great Smial as soon as he discovered what had happened to her parents, she very likely would have pushed away everyone she knew and damaged every friendship that she had. Living with the Tooks had forced her realise she wasn't alone in her grief.

Bilba had wanted to be left alone, left to process what had happened to her world. Fili, it seems, needs to be around others, needs to be with his family and friends and he is lucky to have so many of them. Far luckier than _she_ ever was because so many of them understand his grief.

They continue onwards the next day with a light mood if not lighter steps. Fili begins to open up more, starts to tell Adra more about his brother and some of them are stories that Bilba has heard before from Dwalin or Fili but others are new, and she clings to them as Thorin orders that they pick up the pace a little more so that they can make up lost time. As the days pass Bilba starts to think longingly of her lost pony, unsure whether the pain in her legs from days of marching is worse than that she had felt when learning to ride in the first place. She hates it, but she's too frightened, now, to use her ring and run away. The dangers of the world have become all too real.

Things change six days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You keep on saying that, Bilba. 
> 
> I promise I am working on this, Soul Stones is just easier to plug out at the moment for reasons of it's own.


	24. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans need to be changed.

Fili is angry. Not with Thorin or his friends, he understands that Thorin has secrets because his uncle has explained his reasons and Fili has accepted them. His friends have been nothing but understanding of the situation, and Fili is more grateful for them than he thinks he will ever be able to express, but that does not make him less angry with _himself_. He is angry that he is so weak that he allowed himself to be hit so hard by his grief, grief for parents that he never even really knew and doesn't remember. He almost wishes he _didn't_ know the how or the why, it would very likely hurt less, and he wouldn't feel so guilty for having forgotten them.

There is nothing to be done for it now, however, and the quiet concern and support of his friends is enough to remind him that he is _not_ alone in the world. He has those who care about him and love him, those who have chosen to stand beside him while he is struck so hard by an old grief that he barely understands. That his parents were dead he has always known, but even after he had asked Thorin in those years after Kili had been lost he had always hoped it had been illness or a tragic accident. He had never dared to ask so that he could find out the truth one way or the other. He had never even considered murder, never imagined that it would be some foul creature bent on revenge against his uncle. He also knows that if Thorin had told him the truth of everything so soon after Kili had been lost to them he would have taken to the road to find the beast.

He pushes the grief aside with the help of his friends and Thorin, their concerned touches and worried glances. He has never grieved properly for his parents, wouldn't have understood the need to at just five years old when they were killed and never having had the cause to before, even when he had confirmed they were dead. Why start now? He focuses on the march, instead, listens to the measured songs that Bofur and Bifur belt out that they find themselves walking in time to. Miner's songs that waver from hard work to hard play and back again. Songs that would turn Bilba's ears red if she could understand a word of them, songs that neither she nor Legolas should be hearing but that Thorin allows because it keeps them all moving, and the elf is more often away scouting ahead than he is walking among them anyway.

"There is something ahead that you _must_ see, Thorin," Legolas says urgently when he reappears from one of his scouting trips. He turns cool eyes on Fili and his little group, but instead of seeing scorn on his face Fili sees concern. "It is not pleasant. It might be best to leave the young ones here."

Thorin seems to consider it, a frown pulling at his face. It is dangerous for them to separate, Fili knows, but if whatever Legolas has seen is troubling enough for him to suggest keeping Adra and Bilba, at least, away it must be something dark indeed.

"No," Thorin says after a long moment, "I would not have us separated, not now that the road has proven so dangerous. We will _all_ follow."

"The ladies do not need to see this," Legolas insists, although his eyes also linger on Ori.

"I am decided on the matter. Adra is a warrior in her own right and Bilba cannot be left unguarded," Thorin replies. "Lead on." Legolas huffs but follows the command, turning concerned eyes on them every few minutes.

It is the _smell_ that alerts them to what they will find as they come over a rise with the breeze blowing in their faces. It's a heavy smell that makes Fili's stomach roll and draws muttered oaths from the older dwarrow. Obviously they recognise it and when they finally progress downhill Fili can see why. There are corpses here, dwarrow corpses. The bodies are oddly mishappen and as they draw closer Fili can see that the skin is a mottled colour and the smell is stronger. Flies buzz about lazily, walking over the corpses as Fili stares in horror. There are orcs too, mostly hacked to pieces and Fili turns away as Adra pulls Bilba back, ambling around the edges absently and trying to focus on anything other than the bloating and rot.

"Stonefoots," Nori mutters, finger pointing at the armour of the corpse he has crouched beside, "see the dragon sigil there?"

Something glitters, catching Fili's eye.

"What would they be doing _here_?" Dwalin growls. "Fighting _orcs_ too, what in Mahal's name is going on?"

Fili bends, picks it up.

"Oh," Gandalf mutters, "there are more out there than the Dark Lord or the White Wizard who wish to obtain the Arkenstone. It would make quite the offering to a dragon." Thorin groans.

"How, then, are we to work out whether they managed to obtain it or not?" He demands. Gandalf makes a noise that is very likely the start of some _very_ unhelpful reply.

"I think they might have, uncle," Fili says as he turns. "This belonged to the White Wizard, didn't it?"

He holds out a staff, broken in half, mounted with a clear crystal held in place by long black claws, and he hears Gandalf's sharp intake of breath. It is enough to tell him that his suspicions are correct.

"There are tracks too," he adds, "just one set and Mannish in size."

"It makes no sense," Thorin mutters. "They would have had to come back past us, you would have _felt_ it, Gandalf."

"Not necessarily," Legolas cuts in, examining the trail and staff for himself. "The wizard was obviously injured, his stride is not even, and I found several sets of dwarf footprints going south. They'll be able to avoid Dol Guldur easily enough and it will be far easier to go around the southern perimeter than go north. They risk my father's realm or going too close to Gundabad on this side of the wood."

"So we follow?" Dwalin asks.

"No," Thorin hisses. "We are probably ten days, maybe as much as two weeks behind them. I _tire_ of chasing thieves, be they wizard or Stonefoot. If they keep this lead, we will never get them out of Erebor."

"And risk Gundabad ourselves? Or that spider infested wood?" Dwalin demands.

"I can lead you along the path if that is your concern," Legolas says stiffly. "My ability to navigate the enchantments of the Greenwood is one of the reasons my father wished me to have a part in this."

"This will all be for nothing if that fairy gets us lost or poisoned," Dwalin snaps.

"We have little choice," Thorin snarls in reply. "If we can beat them to the mountain we can take the Jewel back. If they manage to get it inside Erebor it's _lost_. We might be able to sneak in but I do not need to remind you that there is a _dragon_ defending everything inside it. We _have_ to get there first. That means trusting the elf not to play us false."

"Would you?" Fili asks from his position next to Legolas. His uncle and Dwalin are still arguing and to his mind it's a ridiculous debate at that. Legolas has given them no reason to distrust him. The elf turns ancient eyes down on him but there is no offense in his gaze, only sad resignation.

"No," he says softly. "The fate of the world rests on this. We cannot afford for the Arkenstone to fall into the Enemy's hands. Nor can we let it come under the influence of a dragon. Betrayal would not be in anyone's interests."

"Are you sure you can do it? Are you sure you won't get us lost or eaten?"

"The wood is my _home_ , I know it well. I will see you safely to the other side." He looks at the still arguing dwarrow. "If only I could convince _them_ of the same."

"Is there a better way to make up the time?" Fili hopes, rather than believes, that the answer will be an affirmative.

"Would that I could tell you there is," Legolas shakes his head. "With the spiders and the enchantments, you would be safest on the path. It will be easier to keep you from straying. I can navigate the forest. I lack the power to prevent you from falling under its influence entirely, but I will do what I can. There is a reason your friends avoid it, galling as it is to admit."

"I won't tell them you said it," Fili smiles. Legolas bows his head in return. "I'd like to move away from all of this, though."

"Your cousin has already taken Bilba over the rise, the sight and smell made her unwell."

 _That_ will get Thorin moving is nothing else. He won't like that Adra has moved out of sight and Fili has his own reasons for concern. Bilba's new found ability to render herself truly invisible is worrying. It would be very easy for her to use this opportunity to slip away no matter how unlikely it seems that she might make such a monumentally poor decision. He has intended on mentioning it to Thorin more than once, but every time the words have failed him, whether due to his own misery or the fear of Thorin refusing to believe him Fili doesn't know. Yet, when he tells his uncle that Adra has taken Bilba back down the path, Fili _still_ neglects to mention that the hobbit can move unseen. He doesn't know _how_ she is doing it so nothing can be done either way. All he can do is watch. Bilba trusts him, he hopes she trusts him enough to stay rather than run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still working on this, slowly. Soul Stones have eaten my brain. I don't even really understand why. But there we are. Another chapter of this will be up next week.


	25. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood.

The path to the beginning of the old dwarf road through Mirkwood is longer than the one they have already taken. The land about them is wild, now, utterly untamed and Legolas tells them that they won't find any settlements of Men on this side of the Greenwood. It's too close to the mountains with too many easy and clear paths for orcs and goblins to utilise and too few traders who are willing to brave the enchantments of the forest. Those who lived here once have moved on, only Beorn lives nearby and he is some days to the west of the path and distrustful of strangers.

Fili pesters the elf with as many questions as he can think of. Now that Legolas' tongue has loosened, he is an eager enough conversationalist and Fili is beginning to understand what the twins meant by Legolas being capable of fun. He isn't as outrageously mischievous as Elrond's sons, but he has a sly sort of humour that creeps in and takes everyone by surprise when it shows up. If he had shown it a little _sooner_ Fili suspects that much of the distrust Thorin and Dwalin have for the elf would have vanished before now. Nori would still have watched him with suspicion, but Fili has learnt that Nori doesn't trust _anyone_.

Given the bizarre turn Fili' s life has taken over the last few months, he doesn't blame the thief.

"This isn't a friendly feeling place," Bilba says as they pause at the entrance to Mirkwood, a name the place _definitely_ seems to deserve if anyone were to ask Fili.

"It wasn't always this way," Legolas replies, "but there is only so much we can do against an evil far more powerful than we are. We were already on our way to ask Lord Elrond if he had a way to help us when the raven found us."

"Raven?" Bilba tilts her head, an inquisitive frown appearing on her face that Fili never fails to be intrigued by. Whenever she turns that expression on him Fili finds himself willing to answer all manner of questions that should be left alone. Legolas seems almost as vulnerable to it and he turns to look at Adra and Thorin with a slightly pleading expression.

"Ravens have long been friends to Durin's folk," Adra explains as they start walking again. With Bilba suitably distracted Fili turns his gaze back to Legolas who has paused beside an ivy-covered statue with one hand slightly raised.

"His mother," Thorin mutters from his place beside Fili. He is _not_ leading the way as he normally would, the younger dwarf notes, Gandalf is ahead as always but Thorin has lingered behind and he eyes that trees around them with distaste. "I dislike elves," his uncle continues, "but I will admit that what they _do_ feel, the feel deeply and long. They are slow to change."

"As are we," Fili points out with a smile.

"The burden of long life," Thorin agrees. "Mind the path, lad, the spiders that infest this place have grown bolder since last I was here."

The trees are dark, and darkness crowds closer as they make their way down the path, but Fili sees no sign of the spiders that so concern his uncle and Legolas. They are far north of Dol Guldur, the place that Legolas and his father claim is the source of the infestation. The path is little used and in obvious disrepair, loose stones catch under their boots and those that don't trip them clatter into the deep shadows under the trees. Fili is a dwarf and darkness shouldn't bother him, but this isn't the darkness of a cave under stone that all of his instincts yearn for. Nor is it the darkness of a moonless night. It's heavy, clingy, and as the day wears on it only grows deeper and more pressing. Legolas has long moved past them, though he is grave and watchful and keeps them walking as it grows darker even as they all argue that night has fallen.

Time loses all meaning under these trees, Fili would say that it feels like a week has passed as hunger gnaws at his belly and exhaustion drags on his limbs. They have only eaten meals enough for four days, however, when Legolas pauses and looks around them with such concern that they reach for their weapons despite how little inclined they are becoming towards trusting Legolas.

"The spiders should _not_ have made it this far north," the elf says, gesturing to the thick white threads that span the trees on either side of the path. "We had driven them back."

"Obviously something has changed," Thorin grumbles, fingers hovering near one of the threads curiously.

"Do not touch the webs," Legolas orders. "They will feel the vibrations and descend upon us in droves." More than one hand is rapidly snatched back. "Hopefully we will come across a patrol before too long. I dislike the thought of leaving the path, though it may become necessary, and I would prefer a few more of my warriors with us if we were forced to do so."

The fact that _Legolas_ is nervous isn't at all reassuring, though he pushes them forwards anyway. The elf has fought beside them twice, so he must know that the dwarrow can handle themselves in a fight. Bilba's safety is a concern, and Fili will refuse to admit that he dwells on it more than he probably should, but even she can fight if she _has_ to. They continue on, watching the trees warily and huddling close together. They walk so closely that, on occasion, they trip one another up. They stay that way at night as well, nibbling on cram and dried beef, not daring to risk a fire for fear it will attract the spiders that they are trying so hard to avoid.

The venom, Legolas has told them, is slow acting, slow enough that to start those bitten didn't realise its toxicity until too late. It had been enough to rouse them from the sleep the venom induced and help them home. The first indication that the bites were more potent than the elves had thought had been dizziness, then increasing muscle weakness and pain. Finally, the victim would begin to burn with a fever and vomit blood, death follows eight to ten days after the first bite if not treated within hours. In Men it takes only two days and Legolas has no idea how long it might take in hobbits and dwarrow, though their smaller stature means that it will likely be less time than even in Men. The elves can purge the poison, but recovery is long and slow. It does little to ease anyone's nerves and Fili doubts that was the elf's intention.

The days bleed together. The path cuts through the widest point of Mirkwood and is in poor repair, making navigation difficult. From the map Fili had assumed that it would take nine, perhaps ten days, to reach the other side. With how slowly they are all moving, however, to ensure that they both keep to the path _and_ avoid alerting the spiders to their presence he is beginning to wonder if it might not take the better part of a month or more to get to the other side. If they ever make it at all. He would wish for the rest of the ponies, but there is precious little fresh water to keep the one they _have_ hydrated as well as the rest of them and fewer oats for feed besides. They would have brought more of each had they known when leaving Rivendell that they would have to go through this place.

It isn't even just the risk of the spiders and the overgrown path that causes them trouble. It's the _trees_.

Fili has always been fairly ambivalent about trees. They have their place and their uses and truthfully his people would be unable to accomplish most of what they do without them. These trees are different. These trees are, in a word, hostile. Fili very much gets the impression that the trees themselves want everyone gone, whether wizard, dwarf, hobbit _or_ elf. He's more uncomfortable here than he was even in Rivendell when he didn't truly know _who_ he was or his place in the world at large. It scares him, not that he will admit such weakness to anyone else and makes his steps increasingly slow and heavy as reluctance to go forward drags at him. He gets the impression that the others are also affected in one way or another, though Legolas and Gandalf seem less so aside from frustration at the rest of the group for the variety of pace. Some, like Fili, hang back, their instincts telling them to return along the route which has proved to be safe. Others, most notably Bofur, try to race ahead, eager to get to the other side and out of the oppression of the dark and trees.

"Perhaps it would be best if you were to go on ahead," Fili hears Gandalf say one night when they have stopped. The darkness _has_ to be some kind of enchantment, Fili thinks, because in a blackness _this_ complete their stone sight should still have allowed them to see to a degree. Fili can't even see the hand in front of his face and that is terrifying.

"I do not believe it wise," Legolas disagrees. "If something should happen-"

"I would feel better knowing that a patrol was coming to meet us should something go wrong than not," Gandalf responds.

There is no other sound around them, no snoring or outraged demands that Gandalf be silent and cease with such suggestions. Fili almost wants to say so himself except he can understand the wizard's reasoning. This place is darker and fouler by far more than any of them, including Legolas, had expected. He isn't sure _he_ feels better about a bunch of elves looking for them, but he would prefer that to dying forgotten among these foul trees.

"It might also be of benefit to advise my father of the change of plans," Legolas mutters. "If these Stonefoots were numerous enough to break a wizard's staff and defeat that number of orcs it may be that they will be too numerous for us the take the Jewel from them alone."

"Thorin will prefer to _avoid_ that as much as he would prefer to avoid the mountain," Gandalf says before anyone else can. "It would raise too many eyebrows and cause more than a little renewed strife between your peoples if a group of dwarves were slain by elves, no matter the reason. Update your father, by all means, but ask that he keep his focus on the sickness _here_."

"You wish me to leave now?" Legolas asks.

"I rather think the sooner the better. We are not alone here. I know the path and will keep us to it as best I can."

There is a faint rustle of cloth and the pair fall silent. In the morning, Legolas is gone.

They continue on for another two days, their pace slowed by the loss of the elf who clearly knows the path better than the wizard does. The grumbling of this small company increases as the days go by. Fili walks huddled with Ori, Adra and Bilba and keeps the hobbit's hand clutched tightly in his own. She doesn't pull away or object and Fili doesn't have the presence of mind to question it. More than once her hand slips from his as they travel and he finds himself staring and frantically searching for her, afraid she has been lost or taken or has slipped away, only to feel her cool hand slide back into his moments later.

The forest presses harder and harder upon him and Fili finds himself fearing for Legolas, fearing that perhaps the elf prince did _not_ make it home and that no one will come to find them. The webs are getting thicker, closer to the path and tightly woven between the trees so that even if the group had _wished_ to leave the path, they could not for fear of attracting the spiders. Which, Fili realises too late, is apparently the vile creatures' plan.

It's Bofur who runs headlong into the web that stretches across the path, unheeding of the deadly ropes that snap under his pace and cling to his hair and clothes. It is not important, in fact, that the webs have been snapped for there are others behind it and although the rest of them halt and call out to Bofur to _stop_ he is clearly more affected than any of them. The spiders descend in droves. Too many coming from all sides and Bofur is bitten before the rest of them can reach him. One by one they fall, though they fight desperately, until only Thorin, Gandalf, Fili and Bilba are left standing. Fili and Bilba have their backs pressed together and he feels her shaking against him from fear and exertion. Thorin prowls around them, holding off the spiders as much as he can with Gandalf's help, but they are only four and even the magic of the wizard isn't quite enough against the sheer numbers of the foul things.

The bite, when it comes, is a searing pain that makes Fili feel as thought his arm is on fire. Blackness trickles around the edges of his vision, fighting with the white light pulsing from the top of Gandalf's staff. Bilba cries out behind him and Thorin collapses at his feet, finally overcome by is own bite, and still Fili tries to fight, cutting down the spider that bit him and two more before the darkness finally claims him.

The last thing he sees is an arrow and a flash of white blond hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that note, I'll be taking a two week break so that I can move house. Any weird parts I blame completely on the strong pain relief I'm taking for an old shoulder injury that has flared up due to packing


	26. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba waits for everyone to wake up

"You must rest," Legolas says as Bilba shakes herself awake once more.

It has been four days since the elf prince and his patrol came upon the small company beset by the spiders and in that time the hobbit girl has hardly left the infirmary, even though she has been given her own rooms. She spends her time moving between Fili, Ori and Adra's beds, talking softly until her voice begins to go hoarse and then sitting in silence with a hand clutched in hers until she is encouraged to move. More than once she has fallen asleep beside one or other of them and has woken in one of the few unused cots to the sound of frustrated elves ranting at Legolas in their musical language.

"I can't," she replies, for all that she never wanted to leave Rivendell with these dwarves, she has become very fond of them. "What if they never wake up?"

"They will," Legolas assures her, although she thinks she knows him well enough by now to see that he isn't as confident of it as he would like her to believe. "We reached them in time and their chances of recovery are good."

The elf doesn't need to say that he would be happier if one with skill such as Lord Elrond's were treating the dwarves. Frankly, Bilba would prefer it as well. She's sure that the healing elves of Mirkwood are perfectly competent, but there is a pervasive undercurrent of distaste for the dwarves every time the elves are in the room that she dislikes. To his credit Legolas seems to feel the same way as she does, having become more familiar with these particular dwarves and their ways over the weeks they have travelled together.

" _Rest_ , Bilba," Legolas orders, his expression clearly stating that he will remove her if she disobeys, "we will fetch you should they wake."

With no sign of her friends stirring and exhaustion gnawing at her, Bilba relents and retreats to the room she had been given for the first time in three days. The bed in this room, though far too large and high, is more comfortable than the cots in the infirmary and she clambers up, still fully clothed, wrapping herself in the blankets with a discontented sigh. Bilba has other reasons for not wanting to rest, reasons that are less altruistic and far more selfish than she would like to admit. She has come to realise that she _is_ a more selfish being than she had thought. Bilba has always believed herself to be too kind, too giving and too open for her own good. She questions that now, given the pain her actions must have caused her family, and perhaps it is less selfishness and more that she has been too much accustomed to getting her own way. She has, after all, spent very little of her life being told _'no'_. Her parents indulged her and denied her very little, perhaps out of love but maybe because she was the only child Belladonna Baggins ever bore who survived coming into the world. Her grandfather rarely refused her anything after her parents' deaths and perhaps it would have been better if he had.

Now she doesn't want to sleep, not just because she doesn't want to risk not being there if one of her friends wakes or the worst should happen, although that is uppermost in her thoughts. She doesn't want to sleep because when she sleeps, she _dreams_. She dreams of spiders and orcs, she dreams of the terrible thing that tried to kill her in the caves in the Misty Mountains and of the man she killed outside Bree. She will wake sweat soaked and crying, reaching for Adra who has slept next to her as a source of heat, comfort and protection for so many weeks, only to find the edge of an uncomfortable cot or the expanse of this too large elvish bed. The ridiculous thing is that as terrifying as those dreams _are_ , they are not the worst of them.

The worst ones are of a future that has not happened, and might never happen, of being in the Great Hall of Durin in Khazad-dûm. Of presenting herself before an empty throne only for a dwarf, faceless but with hair and beard that is dark and thick, to step out from behind it and claim her in a cruel voice. Declaring his right to her and then murdering Fili when the lad protests because Durin's heir is _not_ who she wants or loves. She screams herself awake every time at the sight of Fili's lifeless eyes, something she has seen a facsimile of already thanks to the spider venom, staring at her as an axe or sword or mace is used to tear the life from him. She will wake breathless and screaming, in a too big bed that is somehow richer than even the beds in Tookborough and for a moment she has no idea where she is or what has happened. In that moment the dream is all too real and she will force herself to extract her limbs from her sheets and make her way to the infirmary to confirm that Fili is still alive.

She has been doing this every night for three days since the first night Legolas convinced her to go to her own bed.

"Another nightmare?" One of the healers asks. Bilba cannot keep track of their names, but this one is always here at night. Maerith, she thinks he is called. "I can give you something to keep the dreams away for a time," he offers.

Bilbo shakes her head, settling down in a chair at Fili's bedside and taking his hand in hers. She was given something for dreamless sleep after her parents died. It is somehow _worse_ that the nightmares. Fili is still unconscious so she places a soft kiss on the palm of his hand, the warmth of his rough skin reassuring her in spite of his stillness.

"I need you to wake up soon," she whispers, using a tentative hand to brush a lock of hair from his face. It needs brushing, she thinks, but she knows how dwarves feel about their hair, better than the elves do at any rate. "You can't leave me alone with all these elves, they're too tall to be sensible."

The healer huffs, though she thinks it might be a laugh rather than in offence, and she falls silent, resuming her study of Fili's face. He is calm, although it is more the natural calmness of sleep than the terrifying stillness of near death, and his beard is longer than it was when she met him only months ago. He'll be able to braid it soon, she thinks, and finds herself imagining what he might look like when he gets older.

She falls asleep still clutching his hand and wakes to the feeling of fingers in her thick curls. For a moment she is home again, with her grandfather comforting her after she has dreamt of that awful winter and her parents' deaths. Then she remembers where she is and her head pops off the bed. Fili's hand slips from her hair and he blinks at her sleepily before his cheeks flare scarlet. Dwarves and hair, she thinks absently before deciding not to read into it. His brother, she remembers, had dark hair from all that Fili has told her.

"You're awake!" She cries. "It's been over a week, and I've been so worried!"

Fili smiles tiredly at her, the blush fading from his cheeks but rising in hers as she realises just how much of her own feelings she has betrayed. Fili only smiles a little wider, though there is little comprehension in his face. As though summoned by her exclamation one of the healers, this one with hair of silver, shoos her away so that she can examine the young dwarf. Bilba flees.

Gandalf finds her later in one of the gardens, a welcome haven of healthy green in the black sickness of the forest. She stares unseeing at a fountain, relief that her friends are beginning to wake up warring with her own embarrassment at both her own behaviour and her suddenly realised feelings. The wizard sits next to her in silence, his staff no where to be seen, as he assess her with ancient eyes that always see too much.

"So, you've finally realised it," the wizard comments.

"I don't know what you mean," she says loftily, the conversation all too similar to one she had with Adra a few weeks ago.

"You can deny it to everyone around you," Gandalf smirks, "but you cannot hide it from yourself any longer. It will do you good, I think," he hums cryptically and pulls out his pipe. "Thorin, Dwalin, Adra and Nori are also awake," he continues after blowing a few smoke rings.

"Good," Bilba mutters. "The others?"

"Bitten far earlier than the rest, as you know, and far more affected by the venom. They are stirring," he adds when her face falls, "but it will be some time until they awaken and longer still until they are ready to depart."

"Thorin won't like that," she whispers.

"Oh, he is already aware, but is unable to leave his bed at present and so has been unable to make Thranduil aware of his opinions of the state of the Greenwood," Gandalf chuckles. " _That_ will be a confrontation to see."

"Wouldn't it be better avoided?" Bilba asks. They are Thranduil's guests, though unwelcome admittedly, after all. It would not do to anger him and _she_ finds the elf king mildly terrifying.

"Were Thorin any other dwarf I would say 'yes'," Gandalf muses. "But he is Durin's Shield and supposedly the only other dwarf aside from Durin's heir who can touch the Arkenstone."

"So, why didn't he become king?" Bilba asks.

"Because his brother already _had_ children," Gandalf responds, "and Thorin's claim to the throne was not strong enough. He can _touch_ the stone, but the Jewel will not permit him to _wield_ it. _That_ is for Durin's heir alone, when he finally emerges." Bilba shudders. "Now, dear Bilba, perhaps you would like to come and see how your friends fare? It seems odd to abandon them _now_ having spent so many days at their bedsides."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you aren't following my Soul Stones series (where I have been keeping everyone updated with my house move woes) here's a little update to explain my silence. Aside from the fact that I hit a small mental block with this one, which I blame completely on Soul Stones and one finding an old story and finishing it up (Spider), I've been up to my eyeballs in the new house. We knew she was a mess, we knew she had problems, we knew we would find more problems we hadn't been aware of to start, but it's spiralled a little bit. Not to mention somehow messing up my shoulder before we moved and that is still an ongoing problem. And now it's half term. My time is not at all my own, more so than usual, so I'm grabbing every moment I can and Soul Stones has eaten into that quite a lot, mostly because that's nice and light really. This one will be heading into angst territory very soon but I couldn't leave you all hanging.


	27. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next step

Fili doesn't remember much about the first few days after waking up. He vaguely knows that Bilba was at his bedside when he regained consciousness, but beyond that those days are a blank void filled only with the memory of drinking healing tonic after tonic and the melodious voices of elves arguing the with gruffer voices of his own people. Bilba flits in and out, visiting with all of them and helping where she can when the dwarves are too stubborn in their haze to trust that the elves are trying to help them. They spend a lot of time sleeping and eating simple foods. The first meal that Fili ate was abruptly rejected by his stomach after he ate it too quickly and so he, and the rest of them, have been on simple clear broths for days.

These simple meals, more liquid than any meat or vegetables, mean that their recovery is slow. Fili would think it an unnecessary slowness but for the fact that the elf healers seem to be amazed that they are recovering at all. Mahal made his children to endure, however, and endure they all shall. Thorin is unhappy with the delay, the longer they are kept in these healing halls the more chance the Stonefoots have of reaching Erebor, but there is little to be done. Ultimately, three weeks after encountering the spiders, only Fili, Thorin, Dwalin and Nori are recovered enough to contemplate leaving and even then they tire easily, still recovering from the lingering effects of the spider's venom. The others are struggling more, and there is some question about whether Bofur will fully recover his sight, and even if they were all recovering at the same pace there would be little point in challenging the ones who have taken the Jewel in the condition they are all in.

Being at less than full strength doesn't seem to stop Thorin from giving Thranduil a piece of his mind about the state of the road through Mirkwood. The conversation is entertaining enough to listen to, but lacks the energy that Thorin would usually put into it. The pair snipe at each other for a while until the healers chase their king out for the sake of their patients. Fili finds that more amusing than he probably should, especially when one of the healers simply raises an eyebrow in the face of her king's glare.

"We cannot abandon it," Dwalin grumbles later one night when they assume Fili is asleep. Thorin has just come from a meeting with Thranduil where the elf king has informed the dwarf that a party of dwarrow with a chained prisoner had passed the eastern boarders of Mirkwood only a day past.

"We cannot go after it either," Thorin disagrees. "We are not yet strong enough and we will do little good if they cut us down as soon as we try to take it. We cannot trust Thranduil to help us either," Thorin adds before it can be suggested. "He has always sought the Arkenstone, believing that it should have passed to him before those who recovered it and protected it. As old as he is you would think that he would be aware of the consequences of trying to claim that which is not his to lay claim to." Fili has no idea what that means, but he suspects it has some significance to the ever-tense relations between elves and dwarrow.

"Not even _I_ can sneak into the Lonely Mountain," Nori adds. "And I'm the best there is."

"Not through the front gate," Thorin agrees, "I'm honestly amazed the dragon didn't incinerate the Stonefoots as soon as they entered the mountain."

"Unless they always planned to take the Jewel to him themselves," Nori cuts in, "even Smaug wouldn't be able to resist getting his claws on it."

"Which raises some disturbing questions," Thorin adds. "And he won't keep them alive long once they are in the mountain, nor their prisoner."

"You really believe it might be him?" Dwalin asks.

"I fear it is," Thorin mutters. "I can only think of one other who could touch it and I know exactly where he is." There is a moment of silence. "I do not know what could have been done or said to make him take it, but if it is who I fear then I have failed in my task."

"It wasn't just your fault," Dwalin disagrees. "I should have kept a closer watch."

"Where the fault lies isn't important," Nori tells them both. "What _is_ important is how we correct it."

"There is another way into the mountain," Thorin replies, "though none know it's exact location save those who were there when it was built. Fortunately, I was there. We'll need to be at the mountain before sunset on Durin's Day."

"That's only weeks away," Dwalin grumbles. "You and I, Nori and the boy might be ready to travel by the end of the week, but the others are still recovering. The four of us cannot take on a dragon, and do you really want to put the boy in the path of his flames?"

"We will have the wizard," Thorin replies, "and the hobbit girl no doubt since Tharkûn seems determined not to let her out of his sight."

"That doesn't strike me as wise," Nori disagrees, "although she's quieter than anyone else we have, she has her own part to play later."

"One Thranduil would cheerfully help her to avoid for the sake of irritating me," Thorin mutters. "Tharkûn would have her come with us, and whether we take her or not there is a risk that she will not make it to Khazad-dûm either by the design of Thranduil or the fire of the dragon. The wizard pointed out this morning, however, that Smaug has never encountered a hobbit. It may be that having her with us will be to our advantage."

"Well, that adds Adra to our party," Dwalin says. "She's well enough for it, though, and I'll be happier to have someone to watch the girl's back."

Fili is less happy about it. He would rather that Bilba be left somewhere safe, the journey has been dangerous enough for her already, but he has no say in the matter and so he shifts slightly to get more comfortable and lets himself drift into sleep.

Over the following days Fili feels his strength returning more rapidly as he begins to eat solid meals again and he is allowed to spend some time training with the others. He tires quickly, finding that the frustration of it makes him more likely to lash out at anyone nearby. His arguments with Bilba, which had long stopped, start up again over ridiculous things. More often than not she seems on the edge of saying something only to stop herself at the last minute and walk away, and many of those times Fili realises that Gandalf is watching them both with amusement shining in his ancient eyes.

He pushes himself as hard as he dares and as his stamina improves so does his temper. As his temper improves he finds himself wondering _how_ Thorin intends to get the Arkenstone away from the dragon. Smaug will surely know that something, even something recently added, has been taken from his hoard and he will more than certainly track them down to take it back, even if the dragon is as unable to touch the gem as the rest of them are.

All too soon Thorin is declaring that it is time for those of them who are fit enough to make their way to Erebor. It feels strange to leave half their number in Mirkwood, even though they are under the grudging protection of the elves and go onwards without them. Fili had never thought to come near the Lonely Mountain, even with all of his dreams of travel that he had once shared with Kili this place had seemed impossible to get near. Now it looms ever closer with each passing day as they skirt the long lake and the town which floats upon it at Nori's suggestion. The spy looks at the place with a barely concealed sneer of disgust when they ride by but otherwise has nothing to say about the place. They have all the supplies they need, and they can little afford the detour in any case. It will already take them too long to get to the mountain and even a delay of an hour may mean that they arrive at the location of the secret door too late to open it.

Bilba resumes her habit of sleeping close to both Adra and Fili, curled between them throughout the night and shivering as the last warmth of autumn begins to give way to the early chill of winter. The elves have given her clothes which will allow her to better withstand the cold, but even then there is little they can do against the biting winds which blow over the desolate landscape and the early snows which already threaten to fall. At the beginning of their journey Bilba's closeness might have irritated Fili, but now that he has been forced to leave Ori in Mirkwood while he heads towards almost certain death to reclaim the Arkenstone he finds her a comfort.

It is two days until Durin's Day when they find themselves in the ruins of Dale, where it has been decided that they will leave their ponies, and Fili finds himself wanting to tell Thorin that he will wait with them. There is still a great deal that he needs to see, a great deal that he promised the memory of his brother that he would do. None of those things involve being roasted by a dragon. Bilba approaches quietly and wraps her arms around him, squeezing as tightly as she can although it is nothing to the strength of a dwarf. He holds her in return, able to feel her tremble though he has no idea if it is fright or nerves.

Probably both.

They part as soon as Thorin barks the order to get ready, slinging packs with food and blankets over their shoulders so that they can begin the nervous trek around the base of the mountain to the spot where Thorin insists the hidden door can be found.

At least dwarrow don't tend to see all that clearly over long distances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sort of a filler. I needed to get them from point A to point B and drop a few hints and start the set up for the next few chapters which should be a little bit longer given the things that need to happen. Half term was a killer for trying to concentrate on this one, the Soul Stones stuff is just stream of thought with no real plan, this one actually has things tha have to happen and a direction it needs to go in.


	28. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smaug isn't talking to her, she realises, he must be talking to the one who stole the Jewel of Durin.

Bilba dislikes heights. She had come to this conclusion in the Misty Mountains and climbing a stone staircase hidden in a gigantic statue of a dwarf has only served to cement that idea in her mind. She has every intention of keeping her feet very firmly on the ground from now on as soon as they are done here. Which is something else that she dislikes immensely. They are stood before a hidden entrance into Erebor, with only a couple of feet of stone between them and a fire-breathing dragon, preparing to _enter_ said deadly overgrown lizard infested mountain to try and get back a pretty rock. She _knows_ that the Jewel of Durin is more than that, though she doesn't entirely understand it, but at the moment she can't see that it is more important than their lives.

Apparently, this is not a sentiment shared by the rest of them.

The light of the rising moon has revealed the keyhole for the door to them, just as Thorin had insisted it would, and a wave of putrid air hits them as it is opened. The smell is thick with a musty smell which can only be that of a dragon, undercut with the smell of burning flesh that makes Bilba gag. Just behind her Fili coughs as the smell hits him, along with a wave of heat that would be welcome in the chill of this late autumn night were it not for the fact that it _has_ to have come from a dragon.

"Does that feel _too_ warm to you?" Thorin asks Gandalf and the wizard makes a noise that Bilba dislikes. She longs to point out that there is a _dragon_ in the mountain but holds her tongue.

"Indeed, it does," he replies. "I believe our quarry may have discovered the true nature of a dragon's gratitude."

"What do we do now?" Dwalin demands. "We had little enough of a plan on the way here and without other living dwarrow in the mountain we're hardly going to be able to sneak in."

"I would have us all go inside," Gandalf mutters, "and once inside, I would have Bilba go ahead. The mountain will be thick with the smell of dwarf so hopefully he will not notice half a dozen more, even if they haven't yet been incinerated. We need to know what has happened, but should he spot one of you Smaug's reaction will be swift and deadly. Curiosity about what Bilba _is_ will keep her alive until we come up with a plan."

"That isn't exactly reassuring," she grumbles to the wizard.

"Do you have a better idea?" Gandalf enquires. She shakes her head. "Then that is how it _must_ be. Come, before the stirring of the air alerts him to the fact that the door has been opened."

They follow the wizard in, Thorin pulling the door closed behind them in a way that feels vaguely ominous. Bilba huddles tightly against the nearest dwarf, Fili from the feel of his coat, blind in the darkness. She has only the shuffle of their boots, the rustle of their clothing and the tiny pinpricks of light where their eyes are to reassure her that she is not entirely alone. Fili once told her the strange light in their eyes when underground is to do with dwarven stone sight and _now_ she finds it vaguely comforting when before she found it terrifying. She shuffles along next to them, her feet silent on the smoothly carved stone floor.

All too soon she can see the flickering light of fire and she feels her companions slink into the shadows as she is urged forward by the wizard. Not for the first time she finds herself wondering _why_ she ever left home.

The heat, which had been stifling, quickly becomes unbearable and Bilba is increasingly aware of the ache in her hands and feet as they warm too rapidly after so long in the cold. Her fingers drift to her pocket where her magic ring lies waiting for her to slip it onto her finger. The wizard and the dwarves are still watching her, however, and she doesn't want to let them know that she has it even though Fili is already aware. The ring is _her_ secret and it is one that she intends to keep. Besides, putting it on still makes her feel ill and she isn't always sure that being hidden from sight is worth the resulting nausea.

"Where are you, little thief?" She hears the dragon purring and she darts behind the nearest pillar with a barely muffled squeak. "You cannot hide here forever," he continues, "I will find you and take it from you."

Smaug isn't talking to _her_ , she realises, he must be talking to the one who stole the Jewel of Durin.

"It isn't yours," another voice calls back, distant and indistinct. Smaug turns, however, and Bilba darts in the same direction. Perhaps they can avoid confronting the dragon at all if they can get the one who has the stone out before Smaug realises they have left.

"You can't take it back," Smaug replies. "The dwarves will kill you just as I will. At least I will be quick about it."

Bilba hears a shuffle down a small corridor, far too small for the dragon to get into even if he were to smash his way through. She slips through an opening as the dragon's gaze turns her way, skidding into a darkly robed figure and gasping at the muffled clink that comes from him. She looks up and her apology dies on her lips.

It _is_ a dwarf, as she has heard the others speculate, one who is probably around Fili's age though her experience of young dwarves is limited. She has never, however, seen a dwarf look like _this_ one. He has no beard, barely even has a hint of stubble, and even in the dim light reflected off the gold on the other side of the archway into this dark passage she can see that his jaw is littered with scars. His hair has obviously been hacked off, standing in tufts in places or shorn to the skin. There are more vicious scars as evidence that it has been done more than once and _never_ with any care. He stares at her with dark eyes that are wide with obvious terror and she takes a step back.

Of course, now that she has found him, she has no idea how to convince him to come with her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she whispers, acutely aware of the dragon stomping over the gold in the next room. The smell of dwarf must be so thick still that he cannot find this one. If, however, he catches _her_ scent he will find them in a heartbeat. She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, at a loss for what to do, and his eyes follow the action.

"You're a hobbit," he breathes. She gives him a small smile and a nod, amazed that he recognises her kind when so few outside the Shire know hobbits exist. "What are you doing here?" He hisses.

"Some others and I, we've come to take it back where it belongs," she pauses, though he must know what she is referring to, and he stares at her warily. "Back to Khazad-dûm." She adds.

"I hear you, thief," Smaug roars. "I hear the cowards beat of you heart. I hear your accomplice and smell her scent."

"Come on," she gasps, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him deeper. "This has to come out somewhere and I don't think we want to be in here when he gets tired of waiting." He follows, though whether for lack of a better plan or another reason she doesn't know. "Do you have a name?" She asks.

"Not anymore," he mumbles. "The White Wizard took it from me when he-" The dwarf trails off, but he doesn't need to say anything else. Bilba can tell that the last several years of his life must have been deeply unpleasant.

"Alright," she replies, her breath beginning to come in gasps as they trot along, their speed hindered by the chains that link her companion's ankles together. "I'm Bilba. Once we get back to the others, I'm sure they'll have some idea of appropriate names for a dwarf." She stumbles and he moves like he might try to catch her before shrinking away.

"But your friends are hobbits," he whispers.

"My friends are dwarves," she corrects, finally spotting the end of the tunnel. Her companion freezes.

"They'll kill me."

"They _won't_ ," she insists. He shrinks further away. "Did you _want_ to take it?" She asks and he shakes his head frantically. "So, why did you?"

"He said he would kill my family if I didn't," the young one says. "And I couldn't have disobeyed his order if I wanted to. His voice made me want to do his bidding."

"Yes," Bilba says distractedly, "I've heard about that being one of his abilities." She glances at him. "My friends will listen," she adds. "They'll understand. Please. I know you have no reason to, but _please_ trust me." She holds a hand out to him and he stares at it in silence. Finally, he accepts it and they both duck through a second archway to find that they have emerged at the other end of the treasure chamber.

She recognises where they are, not far from the hidden entrance, and she tugs her companion's hand lightly. He follows obediently, the clink of chains lost in the clatter of gold coins as they skitter from under their feet. As they draw closer, however, they see Smaug's tail as it swishes at the bottom of the stairs they need to climb. There is no way for them to make it past without being caught by it.

" _Smaug_!" A voice roars and Bilba looks up to see Thorin stood at the top of the stairs she has been aiming for, Gandalf at his side and a sword in his hand that blazes with light.

Beside her the young dwarf lets out a strangled gasp and tugs his hood over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, the chapters will start coming a little more easily after this one. As eager as I am to get this one finished there are parts of it that still refuse to cooperate. The events of the next two chapters are ones that I've been building to and I'm looking forward to getting written. Can you guess what I've done?


	29. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are discovered

Fili watches Bilba enter the treasure chamber with a feeling of dread coiling deep in his stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of sending her in at all but sending her in alone seems even worse. Unfortunately, no one else seems to have any better ideas.

“It should be me,” Nori mutters.

“The dragon would roast you in a second,” Dwalin objects. “But we shouldn’t have sent her in there alone.” He adds with a glare at Thorin and Gandalf who are arguing in angry whispers.

Fili drifts closer to the entrance, more because he wants to keep an eye on Bilba than because he wants to see the treasure. Odd as it sounds for a dwarf, gold has never held any real interest for him. His life is full of hard work, true, but Adra has told him that even the wealthiest dwarrow are expected to train regularly and practice their craft. Fili cannot imagine an idle life, nor has he any desire for one. He moves that way because if Bilba runs into trouble he doesn’t want to waste any time that could be used to help her.

The gold _is_ magnificent, though.

“It is too _dangerous_ ,” Gandalf states and Fili shrinks away from the door, fearful of the dragon’s attention being drawn their way. “If we fail we will _both_ die.”

“If we don’t do it, we’ll very likely _die_ anyway,” Thorin replies. “You can hear the dragon as well as I, the one who stole the Jewel is alive and this is our _last_ chance to get answers and find the truth.”

“And if it is not what you think?” The wizard demands. “What sort of creature will we find if it _is_ as you wish? After years as a captive bent to the will of the White Wizard he cannot be as you remember. It is a foolish hope, Thorin. _You_ can carry the Jewel home and much as I wish it otherwise your wishes cannot possibly be.”

“You’ve forgotten Bilba,” Fili cuts in. The wizard and his uncle glare at him. “She may not know if whoever took the Jewel means her harm, but she’ll try to find him if he’s alive.”

“She will,” Thorin agrees, “and there is still the matter of extracting her to consider.”

“It is a great risk, Thorin,” Gandalf warns, “and it will drain both of our energy for some time. The mountain will be vulnerable.”

“Dain will come, if I send for him,” Thorin replies confidently. “And the mountain is as much _his_ birth right as it is that of any other.”

“I dislike it,” a roar makes them all look towards the treasury, “but it appears we may have little choice.”

“Can you do the spell?” Thorin demands.

“Yes, but I will have to channel it through you, and if you do not strike at the perfect moment-”

“Then it will fail with no second attempt,” Thorin finishes. “I understand, have we another option?”

“None.”

“Then there is little sense in discussing further,” Thorin grumbles. “Dwalin, Nori, I need you to keep Smaug’s attention on you until I am ready. Fili and Adra I want you to get Bilba, and the thief if he is with her, and get them out of the treasury.”

“What if your plan fails, Thorin?” Dwalin demands.

“If it fails take the others and get out of the mountain. Take shelter in the Iron Hills until spring and then take Fili and Bilba home,” Thorin orders.

“But, the ceremony,” Adra objects.

“If we lose that Jewel the ceremony and the wait for Durin’s heir are pointless anyway. We will have failed,” Gandalf shakes his head. “Thorin is correct, if we fail here there is no point in returning to Moria except to give the news that the younger line should be given the throne. There will be no Arkenstone to wield or protect any longer.”

“I don’t need any of you to like the plan,” Thorin points out. “I need you to _do_ it.” For a moment Fili thinks that the others are going to object, then one by one they nod and Thorin takes a breath. “Dwalin and Nori you go in first, Fili and Adra next.”

As plans go, Fili dislikes it. It feels too vague although Thorin and Gandalf seem to know what they are talking about. Honestly, he isn’t certain which part of the plane he hates more: the part where Thorin and Gandalf do something mysterious to kill Smaug, the part where Dwalin and Nori keep the dragon distracted or the part where he and Adra have to split up to find Bilba and get her out of harm’s way. Better yet, the third part but where they also somehow manage to get hold of the one who _stole_ the Arkenstone in the first place and convince him to come with them as well. All so that Thorin, if he survives the insane plan, can get his answers. Fili has no idea _what_ answers could possibly be _so_ important that his uncle would risk all of their necks to get them, but he follows the plan and slips through the door, Adra hot on his heels, after Dwalin and Nori who quickly take off bellowing insults.

Predictably, Bilba is nowhere to be seen and it occurs to Fili that if she is using whatever magical thing, she has in her possession that grants invisibility he won’t find her unless he happens to stumble upon her. Literally. Fortunately, Smaug’s search of the great treasure chamber is creating enough noise to cover the steady trickle and slide of gold under Fili’s feel as he makes his way to the rear of the chamber. Adra had raced down the stairs two at a time as Fili had slid down a great mountain of gold coins and gems that had reached nearly the top of the walkway the corridor emerged upon. He has lost sight of her now and his heart thunders in his chest as he worries for her and for their other companions. The heat emitted by the dragon is tremendous and he wonders how Bilba has been able to stand it when she is that much more sensitive to the temperature than he is.

She must have found somewhere to hide he thinks hopefully as he stumbles through the gold. His bones seem to hum, as though trying to vibrate out of his skin, and the closer he gets to the back of the massive room the more pronounced it seems to become. It is a distraction he cannot afford, and he grits his teeth against it as he searches desperately for any sign of a hobbit in the vicinity.

“ _Smaug_!” He hears Thorin bellow and he spins to look. 

His uncle stands by the entrance to the narrow corridor, his sword raised above his head. It glows with a light that is almost blinding, and the dragon turns.

“We meet at last, Thorin son of Durin,” the dragon purrs. “I will take pleasure in burning the meat from you bones.”

Fili takes an aborted step towards his uncle as Thorin dives to the side to avoid the flames that suddenly pour from Smaug’s mouth. A noise behind him makes him pause and he turns to see Bilba next to a hooded figure, a large hand gripped tightly in her delicate one. He races to her, hardly daring to look behind him as he hears a crash.

“We have to go!” He yells, skidding to a halt in front of them and gasping when the hum in his bones intensifies to an almost unbearable level.

The hooded one, however, shrinks away.

“It’s alright,” Bilba says to the stranger. “He won’t hurt you.”

“I can’t” the hooded dwarf replies and the sound of his voice strikes a chord in Fili’s memory, though he cannot place it.

“You can,” Bilba assures him. “I promise Fili will listen.”

“It’s Thorin,” comes the reply after a moment of hesitation. “Thorin – he won’t wait to listen.”

“He _will_ ,” Fili insists. “He wants to know who you are and why you did it. He won’t-”

“ _No!_ ” Dwalin’s scream cuts him off, drawing their attention back to the battle between Thorin and Smaug.

Fili spins to see that his uncle has lost his grip on his sword with Smaug grinning down at him.

“Take it,” abruptly there is a shine to his side and Fili tears his eyes away from what might be Thorin’s final moments to look at the Arkenstone for the first time. “Take it,” the stranger says again. “It will draw Smaug’s attention.”

Even as the stranger speaks, his voice still too familiar, the dragon’s attention has turned and fixed upon them. His expression, however, is not the smug glee that Fili had expected, instead Smaug seems almost panicked, something that becomes more apparent as he reaches for the stone, unable to help himself even though he has been warned against it by others. His hand hovers over the Jewel, hesitant to touch it, and he glances at the dragon to see that Thorin has managed to grab his sword. His uncle throws the blade with both hands, the sword spins through the air and he has to squeeze his eyes shut. Then there is a shriek and when he opens his eyes, he can see the dragon staring down at the hilt of the sword embedded in his chest. There is silence. Then Smaug falls, collapsing into the gold and sending a shock wave through it hard enough to knock them all from their feet and the Arkenstone to the floor.

It is the sound of the stranger scrabbling through the gold that makes Fili look away from the corpse of the dragon. His hood has fallen down to reveal a head that is unevenly shorn and covered in scars. It makes something like pity fill him, the small tufts that remain are dark and it is very clear that this is not something that he has chosen to have done, or that has happened as part of a ritual shearing as punishment. It has clearly happened repeatedly and brutally. The dwarf must hear his sharp intake of breath because he turns to look and Fili sees dark eyes in a face that he _knows_ , though he had long given up on seeing it again.

“ _Kili_?” He whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. This one is still going, but I had to stop while Tell Me Where Time Begins was so prominent in my mind because the relationship between Fili and Thorin was so different in that one that it made the two of them difficult to write at the same time. To make matters worse I started two new fics today, although one of them hurts to write and will take a long time to get to a point where I'm happy to post it. My brain just refuses to shut up.


	30. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reunion is not what Fili would have liked it to be

Fili stares in horror, mingled with desperate hope, at the dwarf crouched in front of him. Kili, if it _is_ his lost brother, stares up at him, his dark eyes wide and panicked. Then he scrambles back, tucking the Jewel away and tugging his hood over his head so that his face is lost in the darkness of it.

“Don’t look at me,” he whimpers.

Everything else is forgotten. The dead dragon, Thorin, Adra, Nori and Dwalin. Even Bilba, although she is crouching next to the cowering form of his brother and talking softly. It _has_ to be Kili. He has been gone for eight years but Fili would never forget that face, or those eyes. He would recognise his brother if he were blind, he thinks, and a desperate rage fills him at the thought that Kili has been alive all this time and held captive. He knows his brother. Kili would never willingly have gone with the White Wizard or taken that which was not his to take. Not without some sort of force being applied.

“Is that your name?” He hears Bilba ask. “Kili? Is that your name?”

“It was,” his brother whispers and Fili falls to his knees, “before the wizard took it.”

“How could he take your name?” The hobbit asks, reaching for Kili who shrinks away from her. 

“He took everything,” Kili whispers. “Why shouldn’t he have taken my name as well?”

“Because it’s _your_ name,” Fili insists. “And you are my brother and if I had thought for a second that you-”

“There you are,” Nori appears over a hill of gold. “We need to get you back, Thorin’s orders.” Sharp green eyes fall on the cowering figure of Fili’s terrified brother. “You found him, then,” all the warmth in Nori’s voice is gone and Fili flinches. 

The spy takes a step towards Kili, obviously intending to look upon the face of the one who would dare to steal the Arkenstone, and Kili scrambles away. Fili begins to step forward, but it is Bilba who reaches Kili first, placing herself between his brother and Nori with a hard look that would not be out of place on Thorin’s face.

“Leave him alone,” she orders and Nori pauses. “He didn’t want to take it, and he’s clearly terrified. Leave him be until we’ve spoken to Thorin. It’s a lot more complicated than we realised.”

Something like understanding crosses Nori’s face as he glances at Fili. There is pity in those green eyes as well, almost as though he has realised what it took seeing his brother’s face for Fili to conclude.

“Very well,” Nori says, “I’ll tell the others, but don’t take too long, Thorin and Gandalf want us _out_ of this treasury and well away from the affects of Smaug’s lingering spells.”

“We’ll be as quick as we can,” Fili promises. “We just need to take it slowly for _his_ sake.” He gestures to Kili who is now clinging to the edge of Bilba’s cloak.

Nori nods sharply and clambers back over the piles of gold grumbling under his breath. 

“You know, then,” Kili whispers once Nori is gone, “that Uncle Thor isn’t who he always said he was?”

“I know,” Fili crouches near him, still keeping his distance and watching the way Bilba hovers over his brother in a manner similar to a protective mother. “He explained it all to me himself and took me to meet some of our father’s family. One of our cousins is with us.”

“The White Wizard said he stole us and murdered our parents,” Kili mumbles. 

“He lied, Kili,” Fili reaches a hand out, willing his brother to come to him. “I swear it to you, he lied. I’ve met dwarrow who knew our father, and elves who knew our mother. Please, come and see him. Come and listen to him. I won’t let them hurt you, I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Bilba doesn’t say anything, although Fili can clearly see that she is near tears, she simply moves to stand beside him with her hand on his shoulder in silent support. He cannot see his brother’s face, cannot see his eyes so that he can read his thoughts in them as he always used to, but he isn’t sure that he is ready to have to reconcile that scarred and blank visage with the face of his memories that was always so bright and full of life. It feels like it takes forever for Kili to move, to reach out a hand that trembles and take the one offered, but eventually it happens. Fili _wants_ to drag his brother into his arms, hold him close and _never_ let him go, but some instinct tells him such an action would be unwelcome. He settles for helping his brother get to his feet, almost regretting the way that Bilba withdraws her gentle offer of comfort to _him_ to take Kili’s other hand in her own and squeeze gently. Kili flinches back as they take their first steps forward, and there is the clink and rattle of chains that restrict his steps to a brisk shuffle. They keep their pace slow, helping him where his movement is too restricted to make the trip easy.

“I was about to come looking for you,” Dwalin says as they finally make it to the exit. 

“We need to get his chains off if we want to move faster,” Fili replies, gesturing to his brother’s ankles even though they are covered by the long robe. 

“He might take it as the right moment to try and scarper,” Dwalin disagrees. Kili flinches back from the hard glare and Fili feels something in him crack. Kili once adored Dwalin. “Better not take the risk until Thorin says otherwise.”

“He _won’t_ try and run, Dwalin,” Fili snaps. 

“I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, lad,” Dwalin begins.

“He didn’t _say_ anything, he didn’t need to!” Fili argues. 

“Fili,” Bilba reaches over to place a hand over his, putting herself between Dwalin and Kili once more and his brother seems to attempt to shrink behind her. “The quicker we get him to your uncle, the quicker we can get this whole mess sorted.”

“Let me take him,” Dwalin orders.

“No,” Bilba replies. “He stays with us. I promised him I’d stay with him, I’m not leaving.” 

Dwalin gives them both a perplexed look but throws his hands in the air and waves them in front of him. They make their way to where the others have gathered as quickly as they can, holding Kili’s hands tightly as his own grip gets firmer the closer they come to the others. He stops a few times and Fili can hear Dwalin muttering under his breath, but he doesn’t let his uncle’s old friend near enough to Kili to touch him, just talks softly to his brother and assures him that it will all be well, promises him that Thorin is not the monster the White Wizard made him into and that he will be relieved to see Kili and as filled with guilt as Fili is for not realising that he had been alive all this time. 

Thorin looks terrible when they reach him, grey and exhausted, as though he has aged a hundred years in the seconds that it took to kill Smaug.

“Uncle!” Fili cries in alarm, wanting to rush to Thorin’s side but not willing to release his grip on Kili just yet.

“Thank Mahal,” Thorin breathes, “I had worried when you weren’t found straight away.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Fili admits. “It just took us a bit longer to persuade him to come with us,” he gestures to Kili, who is still clinging to his hand. He can’t see his brother’s face, his head is bowed so that the hood hides him completely, but he can feel his trembling and hear his quick, almost panicked, breaths. 

“You’re going to have to take the hood down,” Bilba says softly, obviously reading the same demand in Thorin’s face and knowing that it will not end well if he barrels in, as he is so often wont to do, with a hard expression and harsher words. “Would you like to do it, or would you prefer it if Fili or I did it?”

“You, Bilba,” Kili breathes, almost too quietly for Thorin to hear, and Fili feels momentarily jealous that he would choose the hobbit over his own brother, then he feels Kili grip his hand harder still and he realises it is because his brother doesn’t want to let go.

“Alright,” Bilba agrees without question, “but you’ll have to bend a little, even for a dwarf you’re ridiculously tall.” For a horrible minute Fili thinks that Kili will kneel and obviously Bilba feels the same. “Just bend,” she whispers, far too quietly for anyone other than the three of them to hear.

Kili obeys, bending just enough at the waist for Bilba to take down his hood. Fili doesn’t watch, preferring to keep his attention on his uncle, who has sat up in his nest of furs to watch proceedings with a hard eye and grim turn to his lips. It means that Fili sees the moment his uncle realises that the one stood next to them is Kili. He sees the moment that cool composure turns into anguish and self-recrimination. He watches his uncle struggle to his feet and sees his agony when Kili pulls back and away. 

“Kili,” Thorin breathes, “Dushin-Mizim.” He staggers forward another step and it is all Fili can do to keep Kili from bolting.

“Perhaps we should give Kili a moment,” Bilba suggests, “and I think _you_ should sit back down. Killing dragons looks like it’s exhausting work. Then we need to work out how this happened.”

Fili thinks his uncle will argue, but blue eyes that are full of heartache turn onto the hobbit lass, watching the way that she hovers between the brothers and their uncle, watching as Fili reaches his free hand out to her and she accepts without thought. Then he nods, steps back and sinks into his furs once more. Kili is slower to relax and his trembling doesn’t stop, although it lessens when he draws his hood back up over his head. 

It would be easier to calm his brother, of course, if Gandalf had not chosen that exact moment to walk into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butchered Khuzdul:  
> Dushin-Mizim: Dark Jewel 
> 
> If you think I didn't cry while I was writing this you would be wrong. I'll probably be crying more as I write the next couple of chapters as well. Which is why I had to post the other one I've got up, Mahal knows I need something lighter to write between chapters of this or I think my heart will disintegrate. Now I'm going to curl up in a corner and eat much chocolate while wishing I could wrap the pair of them in a fluffy blanket and hug them until all the nasty I'm putting them through goes away.


	31. Bilba

Kili's reaction to Gandalf is immediate and heart wrenching, even to Bilba who only has Fili's stories to give her any idea of who Kili might have been before. Fili's stories all paint Kili as vibrant and confident, lively and cheeky and very curious. The stories are a far cry from the terrified dwarf in front of them now. As soon as Kili sees Gandalf he collapses to his knees and curls into a ball, silent but for the occasional sound of his panicked breathing. Thorin is attempting to struggle to his feet as Fili kneels next to his brother, reaching a hand out to touch Kili's back gently even as Thorin yells for Fili to step away. The shout summons the others, the room that they have taken refuge in suddenly feeling too small and crowded with the sounds of their demands.

It is the noise that seems to make Kili react, shoving his way past his confused brother with a deceptive strength and rushing to a corner where he curls as though trying to vanish into the stone. The sound of hard dwarf voices only makes him shrink away more and Bilba can see the helpless devastation on Fili's face as he realises that there is nothing he can do for his brother who seems completely lost in his memories. In the end it is Thorin who silences them all, roaring for quiet and then turning to look at his missing nephew with an expression as lost as Fili's, though he must have seen others in this kind of condition at some point during his long life.

"Bilba," he says, "I need you to talk to him, assure him that he is safe."

" _Me_?" She squeaks.

"Your voice is not like ours," Thorin replies, "nor is it like that of any orc, Man or wizard he might have encountered during his captivity. It may reach him faster than the rest of us can, even Fili or I."

"Thorin, what in Mahal's name is going on?" She hears Dwalin demand as she approaches Kili, deliberately trying to make noise even though it is the opposite of what hobbits usually do.

"Kili," she says softly, "can you hear me? You're safe, none of us are going to hurt you. Not even Gandalf. He'll probably help us get you out of those chains. Will you look at me?"

She continues this way for a while, talking gently and eventually moving from soft reassurances to telling him about how she came to be involved with this odd group. After a time, he uncurls and lets her take his hand in hers and she hardly dares to breathe as she keeps up her steady stream of words. She is vaguely aware of Thorin telling the others what he knows, of Adra wrapping her arms around Fili and the ever-present sensation of jealousy that fills her whenever the cousins are close no matter how ridiculous it is. She feels Kili flinch when Dwalin almost roars that he is going to hunt the White Wizard down and kill him slowly, would miss the fact that Fili mutters ' _not if I get him first_ ' if not for the fact that Kili gasps and begins muttering that he shouldn't, none of them should because they have no idea of the danger of wizards. Glancing at Gandalf, who has always appeared to be little more than a harmless old man, Bilba is inclined to agree with him.

The grey wizard is obviously incensed, and obviously as exhausted as Thorin, but he doesn't speak much as the others demand their answers and make their threats. Bilba wants answers herself, though she cannot ask the questions, and she is running out of words to put together. She doesn't want to risk upsetting Kili by telling him more about their journey, has no idea _how_ he might react to it all, and so begins to hum. It is a song that she has heard the others humming more than once, their deep dwarven voices lending a rich depth to the song even though they have never shared the words in her presence. She clearly remembers Fili telling her how much Kili had enjoyed music, however, and when she glances at the younger dwarf she can see him staring at her from under his hood with wide eyes that, for the first time, are not shaded by fear.

"I don't know the words," she admits, "but they all hum it often enough. Do you know them? Can you sing them for me?"

"The wizard wouldn't allow it," Kili breathes.

"He isn't here now," Bilba replies. "He can't hurt you anymore," and she has no doubts at all that Saruman _has_ hurt Kili repeatedly. "None of us will let him."

She continues to hum and, after a moment, Kili joins her. He is hesitant, his fingers twisting in his robe and his head twisting as though he expects to be reprimanded at any moment. She stills his hand with her free one, starting the song again when she reaches the end since it is the only dwarf tune she has even a passing familiarity with. It comes as a surprise to hear Fili's voice join them as he eases down next to his brother, and obviously it is as much of a surprise to Kili who falters momentarily until he realises who it is. The music seems to calm him more than Bilba's chatter could, enough that even when the others join in he just seems to melt into it all.

Then, quite suddenly, he begins to sob. Bilba turns panicked eyes on Fili, who looks just as baffled, and reaches for Kili who shies away again. The wizard beckons her over and she goes with a concerned glance over her shoulder

"Give him some space, my dear," Gandalf says, his face grey with exhaustion and sorrow. "It has been many years since he has known love and safety, it will be hard to adjust to it."

"What was done to him, Gandalf?" Bilba asks.

The dwarves are singing now, and much as she wishes she could listen to words that have never been shared with her, her interest lies in trying to understand what has happened to Fili's brother.

"That, I could not say," Gandalf sighs, "though I could make a number of guesses which I doubt would be too far off the mark. Dwarves are stubborn creatures, stone headed. His captor needed to control the boy and his voice might work well on Men, and even the odd elf, but it he has always struggled to use it around dwarves. Aulë did well with _that_ aspect of them at least. He will have needed to break Kili enough that he could control him."

"Will he ever get better?" Bilba asks, dashing tears from her cheeks as she thinks of how different this creature is to the brother Fili described so lovingly.

"That depends entirely on him," Gandalf replies, "and on how much he allows those who love him to help. He will never be what he was, that is lost to him, but I think he will know happiness again. I doubt his brother and uncle would allow anything else."

"No," she whispers, "they wouldn't. But will they be able to protect him?" She asks. "He took the stone and I promised him we would keep him safe, but what about the dwarves in Moria? How can we keep him safe from them when we have to take it back there?"

"The solution to _that_ will have to remain a mystery, Bilba," Gandalf's voice is tired. "But I can assure you that Thorin's authority in that place is far greater than he would have anyone realise. Thorin and Fili will keep him safe, there is no need to fear for that."

Kili has calmed now and is hesitantly leaning towards his brother, who seems just as nervous about touching him. The wizard pats her shoulder and she takes it as a dismissal. She slides back into the little group to sit next to Fili and lays her head against his arm in silent support as he finally takes his brother in his arms. She suspects, from the fact that his chest no longer rumbles with song, that his emotions have also caught up to him and she burrows closer to him, wishing that she could take this pain from them. She hardly notices when she falls asleep to the sound of dwarf song and the warm press of them all around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did the dwarves have to sing? I don't know. I started out with thinking along the lines of a lullaby and ended up with this mental image of them all gathered around Kili singing the Song of Durin (and there are some marvellous versions of it on YouTube, just don't fall down the pit and end up with Eurielle's Lament for Thorin unless you want to sob, although that might have just been me) because what better way to assure this Kili that he's safe than to give him something he's been denied all these years. Doesn't necessarily work in real life, of course, but I do know a number of people who use music to calm and ground themselves.


	32. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes nearly a week for Thorin to recover his strength enough to move more than a few steps from his pile of furs.

It takes nearly a week for Thorin to recover his strength enough to move more than a few steps from his pile of furs. A message is sent via the ravens who live on one side of the mountain to summon Dain so that Erebor can once more fall under the control of the dwarves of Durin’s kin. They will need to remain until the others arrive, Thorin has no desire for the Men of Laketown to discover that the dragon no longer lives and Erebor free for the taking. 

The treasury is declared out of bounds until Gandalf, who has also been exhausted by the power he used to aid Thorin in killing the dragon, has had a chance to examine the spells on the hoard and remove them before they become a problem. 

Fili has no difficulty staying _out_ of the treasury, nothing there is of interest to him at the moment anyway. His focus is entirely on his brother. Kili stays huddled in his corner for the most part, wrapped in blankets and with his hood pulled over his head to hide his face from those around him. He doesn’t talk much, just listens as Fili tells him about their friends and how Ori is in Mirkwood waiting for them. Sometimes he will ask a question, his voice hesitant, but mostly he stares at his hands with a stillness that is unnatural given Fili’s memories. The only time he comes close to lashing out is when Gandalf approaches to try and remove the chains that bind his feet together. He doesn’t fear for himself, Fili realises, he fears for those around him. Saruman apparently placed spells upon the chains that would kill everyone nearby should they be removed by any but him. It is a tense afternoon while Gandalf mutters softly to himself to undo whatever has been done. 

The scars around Kili’s ankles make Fili see red and he has to walk away before he cries or tries to hit something. His brother didn’t even have any boots on, and there are no spares to be had. Winter has set in outside, the snow is already up to their knees, and Kili will not be able to travel without something on his feet. 

He returns to see Bilba sat with his brother, as she does whenever Fili leaves for any reason, and he settles on Kili’s other side, giving her a grateful smile as he does so. Bilba grins back at him, her knitting in her hands as it has been almost constantly for the last couple of days, and something in him warms at the expression in her eyes when they meet his. The way her fingers fly over the needles is almost hypnotic, and more than once Fili finds himself watching her as she quietly works her craft. He knows that she has complained of not enjoying it in the past, but she seems to find peace in it now, humming gentle hobbit songs as she works that seem to help soothe Kili when he becomes agitated in his sleep. 

Adra, who would once have been so quick to separate Bilba from the rest of them in the evening, seems to become content to leave the hobbit to her own devices. She still watches them, but for the most part she trades off watches with Dwalin and Nori and rests in between. Fili feels a little bit guilty about not taking a watch for himself, but a quick debate among the others had led to the conclusion that it would be better to keep Fili and Kili together. It is simply too old outside for Bilba to sit on the walls watching for long periods, although she takes an hour every day anyway, and so it is almost natural that Adra would hand guardianship of her to Fili.

“I’m not good at socks,” Bilba admits, setting her needles to one side, “hobbits don’t have much use for them,” she continues, “but I know _how_ to make them. The faunts wear them in the winter before their feet have thickened up.” She holds up the result of her work over the last couple of days. Thick socks in dark blue wool. “They’re for Kili,” she explains, his brother is sat quietly next to him although there is no indication of whether he is asleep or awake. 

“I’ll put them on him,” Fili assures her, touching a gentle hand to Kili’s knee and having to hide his own flinch when his brother jerks away with a noise of distress. “Give me your feet,” he says gently, Kili shifts, dark eyes shining from under his hood. “Bilba knitted some socks to keep your feet warm, help us get them on you.”

“I can dress myself,” Kili whispers.

“Then put them on,” Fili smiles. “You’re lucky, I’ve known her for months and she hasn’t made _me_ anything.” She sticks her tongue out at him and turns her attention back to her remaining yarn.

“You shouldn’t give me anything,” Kili says, though he reaches to accept the socks that Bilba offers him. “I don’t deserve any kindness.”

Bilba snaps one of Dwalin’s favourite curses in heavily accented Khuzdul. 

“Do you even know what that means?” Fili chokes out once he is mostly over his shock and has clamped down on his sudden desire to kiss her.

“Dwalin says it often enough under certain circumstances,” she shrugs, “I can take a fair guess.”

“It means ‘ _orc shit_ ’,” Kili says helpfully and Bilba beams at him.

“Then it was definitely what I wanted to say,” she tells him. “You deserve every kindness in the world, Kili. A poorly knitted pair of socks is the least of them.”

“But what I did,” Kili whispers and though he cannot see his brother’s face Fili can hear tears in his voice.

“Were you given a choice?” Bilba asks, though she knows the answer as well as Fili does. Kili shakes his head. “Then I stand by my original response. _You deserve every kindness in the world_. Even though I know for a fact that your uncle and brother will make sure you get everything you need, it won’t stop me from doing what I can.”

“You don’t even know me,” Kili hisses.

“But does that mean I should leave you to suffer?” Bilba replies. “I’m only here because your uncle and his companions kept me safe after I’d been selfish enough to run away from home. They didn’t know me or my family, but they took care of me. I’d repay them very poorly if I ignored _your_ circumstances.”

“But you and Fili-”

“Are friends,” Fili cuts his brother off before he can say anything else. Something flickers over Bilba’s face briefly. “Now put your socks on, nadad,” he orders before he can think too much on the rest of it.

To his relief Kili obeys.

Over the following days Kili reveals a little bit more about what happened to him. Dwarrow, Thorin tells Bilba, are created to be hardy and that extends to their minds as well. Kili will never be the brother that Fili remembers, but he will recover. Fili isn’t so certain of that when he hears the little that Kili will share. Of the beatings and the repeated shavings at the hands of orcs. Of the wounds that were left to become infected before the wizard stepped in, of the starvation and the isolation. Fili doesn’t understand how his brother managed to hold on to the will to live and has to hide away more than once so that Kili doesn’t see just how deeply he is affected by it all.

“I should have known,” he says to Adra during one such episode when he has joined her on the walls to watch for Dain or other trouble. His cousin gazes back at him with unreadable eyes. “I should have known he was in trouble, I should have known he was still alive.”

“Has Mahal gifted you with the sight?” Adra demands. “How could you have known? Was there a body that you had reason to believe was his?” Fili nods. “Then you had no reason to think he was alive, the wizard made sure of that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself out here and go be with your brother.”

Adra still isn’t comfortable around Kili, he knows, but she hasn’t said or done anything to make arouse concern. Fili doesn’t blame her for being uncomfortable. There are times when he hardly knows what to do or say. He has dreamt so many times that he might one day find his brother, dreamt of all the things he has wanted to tell Kili and do with him. Dreamt of seeing his brother smiling and laughing again, of hearing his music and simply having the opportunity to sit quietly with him. Now he doesn’t know where to start. This _is_ Kili, but it isn’t at the same time. All the light and joy seems to have been sucked out of him and left Fili with this shadow that wears his brother’s face and speaks with his brother’s voice, but isn’t quite the same. He should be thankful, he knows, and he _is_ but somehow it feels like he has lost his brother all over again by getting him back and finding him so changed.

Kili is sat with Thorin when he returns to the little room that has become their temporary home. Bilba is nowhere to be seen, although it’s very likely that she has gone off somewhere with Gandalf, and Dwalin and Nori departed for Laketown two days ago to purchase more supplies so that they can eat while they wait for Dain to arrive. Kili has relaxed a little without the sharp green eyes of Ori’s brother following his every move and as a result Fili can, occasionally, catch glimpses of who Kili was before. 

This is one such moment.

Thorin has managed to find a violin somewhere. To Fili’s mind it’s a minor miracle that one survived at all let alone in good enough condition to be played. His uncle had made the small repairs it needed, and Fili has just as little idea where the materials came from though he suspects that his uncle has been in parts of the mountain forbidden to the rest of them, and had presented it to Kili. They sit together now, Kili’s fingers on the strings as he plucks at them and the hood of his robe swept back. It has been nearly nine years since his brother will have played, and Fili has avoided his _own_ instrument for nearly as long, but both of them had played for decades before that and the peace that sweeps over Kili’s face when he manages to play a simple tune says louder than words that his craft will likely be what helps him the most. His music may have been taken from him, but Fili doubts that even the White Wizard will have found a way to corrupt it in Kili’s mind as he tried to do to everything else.

Fili can already see his brother beginning to grow frustrated with his lack of skill, he knows _how_ to play but it will be a while before his fingers dance as they once did. Kili never did have much in the way of patience. He almost wishes that he could join his younger brother and play with him the way that they used to. It makes him remember evenings in the summer when they would gather in a nearby square with their friends and play cheerful jigs for them all to dance to. It makes him remember the way that fingers and bows would fly and the songs they played which were so familiar that they could play them even as their feet took them through the steps of the dance.

For a moment he sees his brother as he was, face joyful and dark hair whipping at his cheeks, eyes sparkling with glee at the simple enjoyment that his music would bring with it. The moment is broken when Kili looks up and sees him, his face falling minutely.

“Play something else, nadadith,” Fili says with a soft smile, “and maybe uncle can scrounge up another one so that I can join you.”

The smile Kili gives him is the closest thing to a true grin that Fili has seen so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child germs are lethal. One of my little darlings has given me their disgusting cold and I feel like hell. Still managed to get out and help the Manbeast build the new shed, though. I guarantee that when he comes down with it he'll take himself to bed for three days.


	33. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days drag by

The days drag by, without Nori and Dwalin Fili and Thorin have to take their own turns watching from the walls and the hours spent in the cold are tedious. Laketown is almost a week away by pony and the two weeks that his friends are away feel as though they will never end. Thorin manages to scrounge up another violin, although this one is in worse condition than Kili’s, and a small harp. Fili joins his brother in relearning what he once knew so well. Years of avoiding the instrument, however, are not easily put to one side and Fili struggles more with getting his fingers to cooperate than Kili does. 

More than before he was lost Kili seems to take refuge in his music and Fili finds himself wishing that he could join his brother in that.

“Not that one,” Kili says abruptly when Fili plays the opening bars of one they had once played regularly.

“But it’s your favourite,” Fili replies and out of the corner of his eye he sees Bilba look up from whatever task she had been doing.

“Well it isn’t anymore,” Kili hisses, turning his face away.

“If that’s what you want,” Fili says mildly, and his brother turns to glare at him. 

Truth be told, Fili has no idea _how_ to respond. Sometimes when they are playing Fili can forget the years that Kili has been gone. It doesn’t take much to ignore the occasional fumbles from either of them and simply enjoy the memories that come with the music and the sparkle that it brings to his brother’s eyes. That light is gone now, replaced by something haunted and scared. Fili has no idea what might have brought it on.

“We can play something else,” Fili adds.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” Kili replies, setting his violin down gently. Fili is alarmed to note, however, that his hands are shaking. “I just want to rest.”

He watches Kili pull his hood back over his head and walk over to the corner that has become his. Fili’s belongings are nearby as well, of course, but he only tends to make his way there at night and he has already learnt that when Kili says he wants to rest he really wants to be left alone.

“What was that about?” Bilba whispers with a glance at his brother. Fili shrugs. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Kili that?” He mutters, staring at his hands.

“No,” Bilba replies, grabbing his sleeve so that she can drag him from the room. “I’m asking _you_.”

“Of course I am,” Fili hisses, but he can tell that she knows he is lying. “It doesn’t matter, it’s Kili we should be thinking about.”

“We have been,” Bilba says, “but we’ve been so focussed on your brother that I don’t think anyone has thought to ask you how _you’re_ coping with it.”

“Fine,” he stutters, “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got my brother back.” Bilba stares up at him in silence and Fili leans back against the wall. “I don’t know what to do, I _should_ be happy, I wanted him back and now he’s here.” Bilba’s blue eyes watch him as he slides down the wall. “ _How_ can I be happy to have him back when he’s like _that_?” He snarls. “And it’s my fault.”

“How can it possibly be your fault?” Bilba asks, obviously alarmed when she kneels next to him, resting her hand on his knee and watching his face.

“If I hadn’t lost sight of him, or I had found him sooner, he wouldn’t have been taken.”

This is not a new thought, for all he has never voiced it to Thorin or anyone else. Fili has spent years thinking it off and on when his longing for the presence and understanding of his brother has been at its most powerful. Seeing Kili as he now is, has brought it all back and as hard as he has tried to hide it, he cannot help saying it now. He wonders what Bilba will say, wonder whether she agrees with him. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“That’s ridiculous!” She exclaims. He huffs and looks away from her and is startled when her cool hands grab his face to force him to look at her. “Was Thorin with you? Dwalin?” He nods. “And what makes _you_ more responsible for your brother’s safety than they were? They were the adults, as I understand it you aren’t of age yet.”

“Not until April,” he confirms. 

“So how could you possibly have been the _only_ one responsible for your brother?” Bilba asks. He shakes his head, not expecting her to understand that, aside from Thor, Kili had been the only other family he had in the world. “And for all you know if you’d been with him you both would have been taken, or you could have been killed. Or taken yourself and Kili left for dead.” He stares at her.

“I still should have been with him,” Fili mumbles.

"The only one responsible for any of this is the White Wizard," Bilba tells him.

"It's easy to say," he disagrees, "but if I had done better in the first place-" He falls silent.

“We can’t change the past, Fili,” Bilba replies. “Don’t you think that if I could I would go back and save _my_ parents?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, because he knows how lucky he has been, really, to actually have his brother back in his life.

“I’ve made my peace with it,” Bilba replies. “I accepted a long time ago that there was nothing I could have done.” She runs her fingers over his cheeks. “But it sounds like you never really managed that,” he stares. “I know you want to help your brother, but don’t forget that this affects _you_ as well.”

“Where was this wisdom when we met?” He teases half-heartedly. She gives him a lopsided little smile, and he takes her into his arms, holding her tightly as she wraps her arms around his neck, allowing him a moment to bury his face into her shoulder. “Thank you,” he breathes against her neck, leaning back.

“Any time,” she replies no less softly.

Their eyes meet. Hers are soft, full of some gentle emotion that he does not dare to name but that steals his breath. He is still holding her, one hand on her hip where she had knelt to allow him the embrace that had offered so much comfort, and her face is so close that he can feel her gentle exhales. Then his lips are on hers and for a moment all thoughts of his brother and the Arkenstone and what happens next are gone. Her arms, still around his neck, shift so that her hands can wind into his hair and he presses her tightly to him. Fili has kissed others before, but none of them have felt like this. None of them have felt as though fire is dancing under his skin and the mountain could fall down upon his head and he would not care so long as he was able to _keep on kissing her_.

They break apart with a gasp as soon as that thought crosses his mind.

“Forgive me,” he says as they do. “I should never have-”

“No,” Bilba shakes her head. “It was my fault.” He reaches towards her and she pulls away. “It can’t happen again,” she says firmly, although he suspects she is talking more to herself than to him.

“Why?” He asks. “If you don’t-” 

“I do,” she interrupts, “but we still have to go to Moria and I- I have to be free of all prior obligations and entanglements. If it happens again-” 

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence he understands what she means. Nor does he try to stop her when she gets to her feet and hurries away from him. Instead he leans his head back against the wall and stares up at the ceiling. What will happen, he wonders, if Durin’s heir _does_ appear? **** ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stares at Fili and Bilba* What the hell, you two?? Emotionally charged moments that lead to characters not doing as they are told. Ah well, I blame the cold meds. Always blame the cold meds. And the fact that I am unable to do the DIY on account of the cold that has settled into a lovely chest infection. Huzzah and hoorah.


	34. Bilba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba avoids Fili for the rest of the day

Bilba avoids Fili for the rest of the day, her mind too caught up in their kiss and what it means. She knows she is attracted to him, as much as she has denied that fact to Adra, Bilba has never been good at lying to _herself_. She had hoped to avoid the issue entirely, make her way to Moria and fulfil her people’s obligation to the dwarves and then return to her childhood home in the Shire. Whether she would one day marry had become an uncertainty. Torluc Proudfoot, who had once seemed like just the sort she should spend the rest of her life with, has become little more than a dull memory and a childish infatuation. Even before that moment with Fili in the corridor she had long known that she would never accept any offer Torluc might make her, now she doubts that she will accept an offer from anyone else either.

“What’s going on?” Adra asks, interrupting Bilba’s silent staring at the now cold tea in her hand.

“What do you mean?” She replies, glancing at the room. Fili has watch, she knows, and Thorin and Kili have disappeared while she has been lost in thought.

“You’ve been quiet since last night,” Adra says, “it’s not like you. Has something happened? Has Kili done something?”

“What could Kili have done?” Bilba demands.

“Has he hurt you?” Adra presses.

“No, of course he hasn’t,” Bilba’s reply is incredulous. “I don’t think that he could.”

“He could,” Adra shakes her head, “he probably wouldn’t mean to, but he could. What happened? If not Kili? Surely Fili hasn’t done or said anything?” Bilba feels her cheeks heat and knows that her face must be glowing with her blush. “What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Bilba insists. “I wanted to make sure he was alright, and we were talking, and he kissed me.” She pauses. “Or I kissed him.”

“Well, which was it?” Adra asks, settling next to her and leaning in. “Did he kiss you or did you kiss him?”

“I don’t know,” Bilba admits. “One moment we were talking and then he looked at me and the next thing I know we’re kissing.” Adra hums.

“How was it?” She asks and Bilba stares at her.

“I thought you were supposed to make sure that things like this didn’t happen?” Bilba hisses. 

“The duties of a **shomakalinh** are not as strict among dwarrow as they are with hobbits,” Adra shrugs. “A kiss or two is permitted, as long as things don’t go too far. It didn’t go further than a kiss?” Bilba shakes her head. “Then it is nothing to worry over. How was it?”

“I didn’t want it to ever end,” Bilba confesses. “I’ve kissed before, but it was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”

“But,” Adra prompts.

“What if Durin’s heir is there when I finally present myself before the throne?” Bilba whispers, looking at her hands. 

Her heart would break, she thinks, if she had to spend the rest of her life married to a dwarf she hardly knows while knowing that Fili was about in the world and lost to her. He wanted to kiss her again, she could see it in his eyes when they parted and she has seen it in his face since. Fili has been keeping his distance from her as much as she has been keeping hers from him, not able to trust herself and she suspects he might feel the same way.

“I doubt that will be a problem,” Adra assures her. “If you and Fili are meant to be Mahal will make sure that not even the emergence of the heir of Durin could prevent you from being together.”

“You have a lot of faith in your Maker,” Bilba mutters.

“In this, every dwarf does,” Adra sighs. “I know that you have to go into ceremony free of commitments, but that doesn’t mean you need to go in with your heart untouched. And there is no harm in a kiss or two.”

Whatever reply Bilba might make to that is pushed to one side when Fili runs in calling for his uncle. Dwalin and Nori have returned and with them has come the remaining missing members of their little company. The room is soon full of bodies, dwarves greeting one another after a long absence and Thorin quietly filling Balin in on everything that he has missed and needs to know. Kili lingers in his corner, watching Ori and Fili as they embrace fiercely, slapping one another on the back and Fili smiling so widely and brightly when it has been a dull and forced thing for days. Bilba takes a step towards them both but her eyes turn back towards Kili as he draws as tightly into his corner as he can, and she changes her mind. She can say hello to Ori later, Kili needs the reassurance more at the moment. He flinches when she touches his arm, but then looks down at her and nods in reply to her unspoken question.

They stand together in silence for a long time until Bilba spots Fili looking around the room. His eyes fall on her first, his expression unreadable, but then he spots Kili and he grabs Ori to drag him over. Kili’s hand slips into hers and she can feel him shaking. Surely, she thinks, Fili must know that all of this is going to be too much for his brother. Kili has only just begun to trust the rest of them and even though she knows that Ori was his friend before things have changed.

“Is that really you, Kili?” Ori asks. “What happened to you? How did it happen to you? Where were you taken?” Bilba shakes her head frantically at Fili, she knows that Ori often asks questions at a mile a minute and just as often doesn’t always realise what impact those questions might have.

“Ori,” Fili says and nudges his friend in the ribs. Ori falls silent and flushes when he realises how inappropriate his questions were.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and Kili makes a noise that could be one of acceptance but might also indicate distress. “It’s just so exciting to have you _back_. Fili’s missed you, well we _all_ missed you, but finding you is wonderful.”

“Is it?” Kili asks, his voice colder than Bilba has heard from him. “Is it really _so_ wonderful that I survived?” He looks up and his hood falls back. Ori gasps and takes a step back, a quick look, however, reveals that no one else has noticed what is unfolding. Kili’s hair has begun to grow back, but it is short and tufty, and the scars left during the multiple occasions when his head and beard had been shaved away are still stark and clear. “This is what happened to me, Ori. I’m not back, I’m not found. I’m not Kili, not the one you knew.”

Ori shrinks back, his face clearly showing his utter devastation at this reaction. Fili is no less upset, obviously having hoped that this new reminder of the good times of their past would help Kili to feel more settled and welcome. Kili’s expression shifts, as though he is suddenly conscious of what Ori was probably trying to say, and he falters for a moment before forcing his way past them and out of the room.

“I didn’t mean-” Ori whispers and Bilba feels her heart crack at the expression on his face. 

She has learnt that Ori always wants to know and understand, and she suspects that neither he nor Fili took into account how that might clash with the way Kili is now. She doubts Ori even knew. She touches his hand gently, halting his fingers in the act of beginning to pick at the stitches of his gloves then turns her gaze up to Fili who is staring after his brother with an expression that is no less broken than Ori’s.

“I’ll go after him,” she says.

“Bilba,” Fili mutters.

“Stay with Ori,” she squeezes the scribe’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”

She leaves before he can reach to stop her, slipping from his grip and darting out of the room before anyone else can notice her. In fact, the whole thing seems to have gone unnoticed and she is thankful for that as she pads through abandoned corridors. Her feet barely make a noise on the stone and without the stomp of dwarf boots to contend with she is quickly able to find Kili just by listening for him.

The chamber he is in is full of furniture, chairs and tables that are in remarkable shape considering how long the mountain has been abandoned. Kili is under a table that has been pushed against a wall, curled in on himself with his hands clutching at the tufts of hair that have begun to cover his head. His breathing is shallow, gasps of panic that make her think of that day when he saw Thorin and the others for the first time.

“Kili?” She crawls in next to him, ignoring the chill of the stone through her too thin trousers. “Breathe with me,” she says, taking deep and exaggerated breaths. Slowly his breathing calms and evens and finally she feels she might be able to talk to him. “What was _that_ about?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he mutters, the words muffled where he has kept his head leant on his knees.

“Probably not,” she admits. “But why don’t you tell me anyway?”

“Ori,” Kili pauses. “Ori always asks so many questions.”

“I know,” Bilba replies, “I’ve had to field my share of them over the last seven months.”

“He just expected me to be the same, I could see it on his face,” Kili continues. “Everything he said just, it was like he expected the stupid child who let himself be captured.”

“I doubt you _let_ yourself be captured, Kili,” Bilba replies softly. “And I think you remember Ori well enough to know that his thoughts run away with him sometimes.” Kili sighs. “I didn’t know you before, but you don’t have to keep it all in. I promised I would help you. That hasn’t changed.”

“But you _can’t_ help me,” Kili whispers, “no one can.”

“Let us try anyway?” She asks.

“You don’t know me,” he sighs. “I don’t even know me.”

Bilba’s answering smile is sad.

“Then we can discover who you are together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things will start moving away from Erebor in the next few chapters, but I had to reunite everyone and Dain still has to turn up and take control of the place yet. Not something that can necessarily end well.


End file.
